


Open (24 Hours)

by monchy



Category: Glee
Genre: Family, Future Fic, M/M, OCD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 95,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a tiny Parisian street, Sebastian runs a little café that used to belong to his grandfather. He's lonely and a little lost, and when Kurt Hummel - sad, a little lost himself - walks back into his life, it's almost like he's starting to live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Perhaps love is the process of my gently leading you back to yourself.”_

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

 

Sebastian still remembers the first day he saw his grandfather’s café, a tiny and cramped thing that had looked old even back then, in the middle of one of Paris’ twisted, narrow streets. He’d been six, and it had been during his first visit to the city of love. He remembers the smell of pie and coffee, and asking his grandpa about the photos, newspaper articles and tiny drawings that covered the entire once white wall.

When his grandfather died, it had passed to his mom, and had remained closed until she had let Sebastian have it. He had reopened it, and had left it just as it was, full of too tiny tables and mismatched chairs, illuminated by low, warm yellow light. He’d even left the same _open 24 hours_ sign hanging on the door.

Sebastian loves it. He loves the café and the city, and even when his dad had offered to find him a proper internship at some fancy law firm – _you studied law, Sebastian, you’re not going to waste your future in some tiny business in Paris_ – he’d declined, and he’d kept the café.

* * *

 

"That’s it for the day, I’m going home.”

Ginette, who is tiny and pretty and insists on speaking to Sebastian in heavily accented English, gives him a slow nod as she grabs her coat and heads for the door. Sebastian answers the nod with one of his own, and seeing as there are no clients at the café, he turns his eyes back to his book.

He hears Ginette hum, and when he looks up, she says, “Do you ever go out? Out there, where there’s sun and you know, _other people?_ ”

Sebastian blinks and smiles at her as his eyes find the big window of the café. Not only is it past ten at night, but it’s January in Paris: they won’t be seeing any sun for a few months still.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Ginette tells him before he can answer.

Sebastian shrugs, looks back down at his book. “Someone has to be here to tend to the night crowd. Wouldn’t want the prostitutes to go without their warm coffee, now would we?”

Ginette groans as she opens the door, letting the night breeze inside. Sebastian trembles involuntarily, and throws her a small glare.

“You need some friends, ‘Bastian,” she says.

“I have you, don’t I?”

“I don’t even like you.”

Sebastian shrugs, smiles a little and says, “My friends never did, anyway.”

          

* * *

 

Sebastian has a grand total of three people hired to run the café: Ginette, who wants to be an actress but can’t lie at all, Tom, a huge American kid that fell in love with Paris and wants to paint for a living, and Paulette, who is warm and loud and always says that he’s like the son she never had. Sebastian always tells her that he already has a mom, even if all he has left of her is a stone at a graveyard and her lingering smell on her old clothes.

They’re not his friends, not really, but Sebastian likes them well-enough, and the three of them are almost as in love as he is with the café. He’s never been good at relationships, and not even a change of country has done anything to make him any better at them. Sex is easy to get and easy to forget later, and what else does Sebastian need, anyway?

He likes to tell himself that he’s not lonely, and unlike Ginette, Sebastian has always been a great liar.

            

* * *

 

A slow, cold January night finds Sebastian smoking outside the café, his eyes scanning the melting snow that covers the ground. The street is barely lit, and the orange tip of his cigarette looks almost alien in the cold night. This is his favorite Paris, dark and cold, full of mysteries and promises.

It isn’t until two o’clock in the morning that a small crowd fills the café. There are some kids on a late night out, craving something warm before hitting the clubs again, and a few of his regulars, mostly prostitutes that like him because he serves his coffee and his pie with a smile and a few words.

He’s leaving a steaming cup of chocolate on a table, receiving a smile from Alphonse, who has gorgeous hazel eyes and who Sebastian hired once on a lonely Christmas night, when a group of laughing people enters the café. He looks back, listens to the loud American voices with mild annoyance as he walks behind the counter.

“I’ll just take one to go, Jesus, give me a break, you people,” a girl says, immediately turning his way and continuing her speech, as if breathing is unnecessary, “Do you speak English? Please say you do and that you can give me a coffee to go.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, about ready to throw this lot out of his café in perfect English, when a soft voice stops him.

“Amanda, that’s incredibly rude! _Excuse moi, s’il vous plait, nous voudrions…”_

He has blue eyes and pale skin, even if his cheeks are pink from the cold. He’s breathtaking, and it takes Sebastian nearly half a minute to realize that he’s looking at Kurt Hummel. It’s been nearly eight years since he last saw him, but he’s clearly recognized him, if the _oh_ shape of his lips is any indication.

“Sebastian,” he says, the name lingering in the air between them, “I–” he stops, and after a bit, says, “Hi.” It’s breathy and questioning, like he can’t quite believe that they’d ever find each other in some tiny Parisian café.

He’s about to answer with something – something witty and smart and not shocked, he hopes – when he’s interrupted yet again by a shrill, female voice.

“Can I get that coffee now?”

Sebastian lowers his eyelids, glares directly at the woman. “No, you fucking can’t. Why don’t you take your attitude to some place that appreciates it?”

She huffs, unimpressed, and when Sebastian looks back at Kurt, his eyes are huge but his lips are trying to hide a small smile. Sebastian smiles at him, curving up just one side of his mouth involuntarily. Before he can say something, though, the small group is leaving the café, and someone is pulling Kurt away. Kurt goes, but glances back once more before Sebastian loses sight of him completely.

            

* * *

 

That morning, once Paulette and Tom have taken the morning shift and he’s lying on his bed, his much needed sleep eludes him. He’s done everything possible to hide away from his life back in Ohio, and Kurt Hummel is by far the last person he expected to ever see again. For some reason, though, he can’t stop thinking about him.


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of days later Sebastian is out back when Ginette’s voice cuts through the silence. “’Bastian, there’s a pretty boy here to see you!”

“Ginette, we really need to have that indoor voice conversation again,” he says as he walks back inside, steps fast and eyes distracted.

It doesn’t take him a second to recognize Kurt this time, though, clad in a gray coat, a dark red scarf and a fancy hat. He could almost be French with the way he looks, Sebastian muses.

“Hi,” Kurt says, his voice as breathy as it had been the other night.

“Hello,” Sebastian answers a little dumbly. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected Kurt to show up again, and now that he’s here, Sebastian doesn’t know exactly what they can possibly say to each other.

Thankfully, Sebastian can always count on Ginette to interrupt a conversation.

“Well, isn’t this awkward?” she says.

Kurt laughs, light and clear and closing his eyes just a tiny bit. Small laugh lines appear around his eyes, and Sebastian is just a little bit enchanted, but not so much that he can’t turn to Ginette and say, “Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

“Thank God I do, ‘Bastian, you can be a little… what’s the word? Dense? _Oui_ , dense, sometimes.”

Kurt laughs yet again, and as he approaches and takes a seat at the counter, he says, “I already like her.”

“Of course you would, princess,” Sebastian answers almost immediately. It’s easy and natural, and Sebastian can’t help a small smile when Kurt leans forward and lets his shoulders relax. “This is Ginette, clearly a punishment for my bad behavior. Ginette, this is Kurt. He… well, he’s an old friend.”

“Friend is a generous way to put it,” Kurt says, but when Sebastian looks at him, he’s smiling.

Sebastian lets them share a couple of pleasantries while reaching back and starting to make a cup of coffee. Ginette excuses herself fairly quickly, though, and goes to attend the tables and make herself look busy. Then it’s just the two of them, and Sebastian’s little café around them. The coffee machine is making some horrible noises behind him when Kurt starts talking.

“So, you’re here,” he says.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, says, “Yes, Captain Obvious, I’m here.”

“Well, excuse me, I’m just a little surprised!”

Sebastian hums, turning around when the machine stops working to serve the coffee. He pours two cups, and then brings them to the counter and places them between them. He wants to say that if anyone has any claim to Paris, it’s him, and not Kurt.

“You work here?” Kurt asks. He’s stirring the coffee and resting his free hand against the side of the cup, as if trying to warm his skin.

“I own the place,” Sebastian says. Almost immediately, he clarifies, “It was my granddad’s, originally.”

Kurt hums, and then blinks deliberately slow. He doesn’t know what to say, and Sebastian isn’t surprised. He doesn’t know what to say himself, how to go about catching up with someone he didn’t ever have a relationship with. All Kurt and Sebastian ever had was mutual hatred and an apology that Sebastian hopes was sincere enough.

“What are you doing in Paris?” Sebastian asks after a while, if only because the least they can do is cover the basics.

“Working,” Kurt answers. “It’s a small show, we’re touring Europe. I’m here for six weeks.” It comes out in a rush, as if rehearsed.

Sebastian wants to ask more, but Kurt looks down and at his watch, making a fuss about it as if he wants Sebastian to notice.

“I–I have to go, actually,” he says, “Early rehearsal today.”

“Already?” Sebastian wonders immediately. He doesn’t know why, because it’s very clear that he doesn’t know how to talk to Kurt, doesn’t know how to go about this surprise meeting. Still, a sudden panic fills him, and he reaches out and wraps his hand around Kurt’s wrist. Kurt looks down, lets his eyes trace the shape of Sebastian’s fingers against the fabric of his coat.

“I’ll come back, no need to keep me here.”

Sebastian reacts quickly, pulling his hand away and smirking. “Please, Hummel, as if I need some charity visit.”

“Admit it,” Kurt says, a pretty smile touching his features, “you can’t live without me.”

“Yes, of course princess, I’ve been waiting patiently for you all these years.” He puts enough disdain in the words to make them almost unpleasant. Still, when Kurt leaves, he does it with a promise to come back.

 

* * *

 

Kurt doesn’t come back the next day, and Sebastian’s mood is so foul that Paulette pats his cheek and sends him home with a stern glare. After Sebastian concedes, she gives him a big hug and tells him to call this guy that’s on his mind. Sebastian tries to protest, but she just gives him a knowing smile.

He goes home, a tiny apartment right above the café that has the most beautiful view Sebastian has ever seen. It’s clattered with books and old furniture, and one of these days Sebastian is going to put everything in some kind of order. Not today, though. Today, he makes himself some coffee and buries himself under the covers with a well-read book.

He thinks of Kurt. The image of his smiling face is burnt in his retinas, and he can’t explain _why._ Maybe it’s because Kurt is a reminder of a life he left behind, or maybe because he’s too pretty to forget. Maybe, Sebastian musses, he just wants to get to know this older Kurt that has bright eyes and smiles at him.

            

* * *

 

It’s almost midnight of the next day when Kurt shows up again. Sebastian is outside smoking and freezing while Tom picks up his stuff inside and gets ready to leave the night shift to Sebastian. It’s probably Sebastian’s favorite hour to work, if only because the clientele is few and far between, and he can read and smoke to his heart’s content.

“Hey,” he says when he sees Kurt approach, a couple of girls behind him.

“Come on, Kurt! Come dance with us,” one of them says, shrill voice echoing in the empty street. “You can’t spend your night in that depressing coffee shop.”

Kurt merely gives the girls a tired look and a wave, walking away as he says, “Goodnight, Amanda.”

Sebastian catches sight of a pout on the girl’s face, and then Kurt is standing next to him, his hands inside his pockets and his eyes searching Sebastian’s.

“God, I can’t stand her,” he says, “I can’t stand any of them.”

“Well,” Sebastian counters, smiling a little as he moves his cigarette away from his lips, “I am much better company, if I do say so myself.”

Kurt hums while giving him an appreciative look. “I’ll be the judge of that, Smythe, don’t flatter yourself so soon.”

“It wounds me that you don’t trust my word, you know?”

Kurt says nothing, barely moves his lips into a tiny smile. He’s looking at Sebastian, slow and steady, and Sebastian would love to know what’s going through his head. He’s reminded of the first time they met, of the way they had looked at each other in some sort of mutual unvoiced challenge. It’s funny how oblivious Blaine had been to the game that was being played around him, whereas Kurt had seen Sebastian coming from a mile away. Sebastian had always thought that had the circumstances been different, he and Kurt would have actually been good friends. There was a lot to say for a guy who didn’t even pretend to buy what Sebastian was selling.

“You smoke?” Kurt asks after a while, his eyes looking at the orange tip of Sebastian’s cigarette.

Sebastian just lifts an eyebrow before taking a drag, almost making a show of blowing the smoke from his mouth. He stops himself from making a comment about the obviousness of Kurt’s statement, and says, “A couple a night, or so.”

“Only at night?” Kurt asks, curious.

“Yeah,” Sebastian answers, his shoulders sagging a little as he leans back against the wall by the door of the café. “It’s a thing.”

Kurt laughs after that, tiny but free and throwing his head back a little. Sebastian looks at the long line of his neck, partially covered by a dark grey and green scarf.

"What?” he asks, smiling a little himself when he looks at Kurt’s lips.

“It’s just… so romantic,” Kurt says, and when Sebastian lifts a questioning eyebrow, he continues, “the little café in a tiny Parisian street, the mismatched tables, the smoking only at night while freezing in the street. I never thought you were type.”

“Just because I don’t dig the Disney prince romance doesn’t mean I don’t have my own sense of it, Hummel.”

“Honestly? Until four days ago I wasn’t sure you even had a soul.”

Sebastian puts one hand to his chest, mock offended, and says, “Ouch, princess, hit a guy where it hurts the most, why don’t you?” When Kurt gives him a wry look, Sebastian puts his hand down, looks at him, and with a sigh says, “Yeah, ok, I was an asshole in my teenage years, and you got the worst of it. I apologized once, but I’ll say it again: I’m sorry I was a jerk and nearly blinded your boyfriend because I hate not getting what I want. Can’t we move past this now that it’s been so long?”

Kurt just looks at him for a second, and then says, “I wasn’t looking for an apology, Sebastian.” His tone is small and breathy, and the way his name rolls from his tongue makes Sebastian shiver. “I’ll accept it anyway and move on, though.” He looks up, smiles. “Can we go inside now? It’s freezing out here.”

Sebastian puts off his cigarette, even when there’s almost half of it left, and pushes the door open to let Kurt inside the café. The bells jingle above them, and when Kurt steps in, it feels like a life changing step for a moment. Maybe Sebastian has just read too many books and looks for symbolic gestures where there’s none, but for now, he holds on to the notion that Kurt is here to stay.

The café is empty but for Tom, who is already putting on his coat and pulling a beanie over his dirty blond hair. The moment he looks up, a goodbye clearly ready between his lips, his eyes brighten for an instant, and then he’s crowding into Kurt’s personal space.

“Oh my God, you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, you have to let me paint you!” he says this so fast that it’s hard to understand him, his tone taking on a dreamy tone at the end of his sentence.

Kurt looks at Sebastian, mildly panicked, and Sebastian laughs before chastising Tom with, “Tom, personal space, we’ve talked about this.”

“Oh fuck, sorry, yeah,” he says, stepping back from Kurt with a sheepish smile.

“Kurt, this is Tom, and despite his enthusiasm he’s neither gay nor a psychopath.”

Tom is nodding along as Sebastian speaks, and when Sebastian’s done, he says, “I really, _really_ want to paint you. Like, just a couple of portraits. Sketches, really. We could do it here? You wouldn’t even have to stay still, I promise. You just have the most amazing eyes.” His speech is rushed yet again, but he’s looking at Kurt with so much earnestness that Sebastian knows he won’t say no.

“Ok-ay,” Kurt manages, right before muttering a low _oof_ when Tom launches forward and hugs him tight.

Sebastian laughs, because he’s been at the other end of Tom’s enthusiasm and it can certainly be a bit too much, especially because the guy looks like a jock but is actually more like an overeager puppy who happens to be passionate about art.

“Thank you, thank you!” Tom exclaims before releasing a mildly amused Kurt, and stilling himself. “Right, I’ll see you around then?” Kurt nods, and Tom smiles big and wide. “Great. I’ll get going now, so… goodnight.” He steps away from Kurt, pats Sebastian’s back with a big hand, and after a mumbled _‘night, Seb_ leaves the café.

“Right,” Kurt says once they’re alone, “so he’s… _intense.”_

Sebastian snorts. “That’s a way of putting it.” After a bit, he steps behind the counter, and says, “Come on, I’ll treat you to coffee and pie.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This thing is going straight to my hips, and I don’t even care,” Kurt is saying some time later, holding the last piece of Sebastian’s blueberry pie with his fork. “I don’t want to finish it, ‘cause then it will be all gone.” He honest to God _pouts,_ and Sebastian can’t help but smile.

“There’s more pie, you know?” Sebastian says.

Kurt shakes his head no, though, his mouth busy on the last piece. They’re sitting at one of the tables, the one closer to the window so they can peer outside to the darkened city. They’ve been mostly alone up until now, only a lone costumer coming for a coffee to go, and if Kurt keeps making those dirty sounds over freaking pie, Sebastian is going to have to close for the night and make him an indecent proposal.

"I can’t,” Kurt says after he’s done, “I’ll hate myself in the morning.”

“It’s just pie, princess.”

“This is much more than pie,” Kurt says, pointing at his empty plate with the fork, “this is an earthly representation of every capital sin.”

“Dramatic much?”

Kurt shrugs as he leaves his fork on the plate with a forlorn look. Almost immediately, he moves his hands to his unfinished cup of coffee, and lets them rest there. He keeps moving them, then, and Sebastian hadn’t noticed that particular quirk of his back in the day. Maybe it’s a new thing, or maybe Kurt had been so busy keeping his hands on Blaine in front of him that he hadn’t moved them much.

“So, tell me about this show of yours,” Sebastian says. Conversation is almost fluid now, easier than it had seemed possible, and Sebastian finds himself wanting to know more about this older, quieter Kurt. There’s something enchanting about him, and Sebastian wants to look and listen in a way he hasn’t wanted for many years.

“It sucks, basically. Like, if I’m ever famous I’ll claim temporal insanity.”

Sebastian gives him a _look_ , like he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. “Don’t give me that, Hummel, you’re not modest about your own talent.”

“Oh, no,” Kurt says almost immediately, one hand going to his chin and a finger resting lightly against his cheek. “I said _the show_ sucked. I’m awesome in it.”

Sebastian laughs. “Ah, of course.”

Sebastian kind of wants to go see it, and the thought is almost at the tip of his tongue, wanting to be set free. He’s not sure, doesn’t know which kind of water he’s threading here with Kurt. Kurt seems to be appraising him, too, if the way he keeps looking at him is any indication. It’s as if he doesn’t know what to make of him, and it’s a little unnerving. It’s been too long since Sebastian has wanted someone to like him.

“How about you?” Kurt asks after a while. “I pictured you like some hotshot, cut-throat lawyer, or something.”

Sebastian wiggles both eyebrows, leans forward on his elbows and towards Kurt. “Spent a lot of time _picturing_ me, did ya?”

Kurt snorts. “You sure are good at the whole flattering yourself thing, aren’t you?”

“Well, _someone_ has to do it,” Sebastian deadpans, “and honestly, last time I met you, you were more keen on insulting me. I was traumatized for a week after you said I had CW hair.”

Kurt laughs, sudden and fresh, and almost immediately looks at Sebastian’s hair. He wears it down this days, mostly because it takes less time and because it seems to fit him better when he’s wearing his thick-rimmed glasses, and he wonders if Kurt likes it better or not.

“You insulted my clothes,” Kurt tells him after his short laugh. Almost immediately, he points a finger at him, mock-serious, and says, “And if you do so again I will walk away and never come back.”

“Hey! I gave you free pie. Doesn’t that get me some insulting rights?”

“No, it does _not.”_ Kurt lifts his face then, nose high in the air, and Sebastian is suddenly reminded of the day met, in which Kurt had given him that exact haughty look, except back then it had been coupled with a whole lot of thinly veiled disdain.

Sebastian gives him a small smile, wrapping his hands around his own cup of coffee, and looking down for a second before looking back up with an exploratory gaze. Kurt’s clothes are… well, _Kurt’s clothes._ He has classy down to a tee, but there’s something inherently quirky about them, too, and truth be told, Sebastian kind of likes his unique style.

“What are you thinking?” Kurt asks, looking at him as if he’s ready for an insult.

“They suit you, you know?” Sebastian says. “Your clothes, I mean,” he clarifies. “You just stuck out like a sore thumb in Lima, and it was easy to target that, okay? But you’re in Paris now, and the city kind of goes with you and your clothing.”

Kurt lowers his lids, looks at him for a silent bit before he says, “Was that a compliment, Sebastian?” He smiles, coyly, and Sebastian can’t help but love the way his name sounds coming from his pink lips.

“I’ve been up since eight this morning and it’s almost half past one, I can’t be held responsible for what I say in my lack of sleep.”

“Uh huh, Sebastian, whatever you say. But,” he stops to take a sip of what must be lukewarm coffee by now, and then continues, “You very subtly and masterfully evaded my question.” Sebastian lifts an eyebrow, and Kurt moves his hand to the table and drums his fingers. “About not being a lawyer.”

“That wasn’t really a question.”

“Fine, ok. Sebastian Smythe,” he begins, “how come you own a little café in Paris instead of being on your way towards becoming a partner at some fancy law firm like I pictured?”

Sebastian’s shoulders drop, and he bites his lower lip involuntarily. He wants to fill the gaps of his life for Kurt, but he doesn’t want to think about how he followed his mom to Paris after she divorced his dad only to watch her be slowly consumed by cancer. Instead, he chooses to disclose the part of the story Kurt seems to be asking for.

“I did study law, actually,” he says, “I just kind of hated it. I, uh, thought about writing for a while, which, yeah, didn’t really happen.” It’s more truth than he thought he’d be giving, but Kurt is looking at him with his really, _really_ blue eyes, and suddenly Sebastian wants to share a piece of his soul with him. Truth be told, he hasn’t thought about the unfinished drafts on his laptop for months. He’s pretty sure his laptop is currently buried under piles of books, anyway.

“Why not? Isn’t that something you want to do anymore?”

Sebastian shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. He _does_ want to, he thinks. Some days he even wakes up with the idea of putting his fingers to work, but then he gets distracted by his everyday life and this tiny, cozy café he loves so much.

“I guess, I don’t know,” he answers.

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s the kind of thing you’re _passionate_ about and–”

“And what do you know of what I’m passionate about?” Sebastian snaps suddenly. He recoils almost as suddenly, looking into Kurt’s big eyes. He didn’t mean to snap, but the last thing he wants to talk about is  his half forgotten dreams.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or anything.” Kurt looks down then, grabs his empty sugar packet between his hands and starts playing with it. Sebastian can see the way he’s physically closing in on himself, and he finds himself reaching out almost unconsciously. He brings his hand to Kurt’s wrist, and rests his fingers against the soft fabric of Kurt’s sweater. His palm touches Kurt’s, and he feels the warmth between them.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” he says.

Kurt looks up, smiles a little. “It’s ok,” he says. “Tell me about the café.”

Sebastian sees the opening Kurt is giving him, and takes it without a second thought. “It’s kind of fantastic, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. He takes his hand back reluctantly just so he can lean back and point around himself.

Kurt takes a look around, as if he hadn’t taken the time to do it before. The place is quirky and charming, and Sebastian would vouch that Kurt’s already a little in love with it.

“A little more space wouldn’t be terrible, but I guess it’s ok.”

“You love it, princess, don’t even try to deny it.”

Kurt pokes his tongue out at him, childish and happy, and Sebastian breathes more easily knowing that the tension between them has been dispelled. Kurt goes to say something more, but then the bell above the front door jingles happily, breaking the silence. Four people come inside, and when Sebastian recognizes some of his regulars, he looks towards the clock hanging above the coffee machine and notices that it’s past two in the morning. Kurt must notice, too, because the next thing he says, is:

“God, I better go if I want to get some sleep. If I’m sleepy at rehearsal tomorrow the director is going to throw a fit.”

“Just tell him a hot guy kept you up half the night.”

Kurt snorts, and as he’s standing up he smacks Sebastian lightly on the arm. “Idiot,” he mumbles.

Sebastian walks him to the door after telling his customers that he’ll be with them in a minute. They say their goodbyes, and Sebastian is half tempted to reach out and touch Kurt’s hands, maybe try to keep him inside the warmth of the café for a little bit longer. In the end, he just tells him to remember his promise to come back and let Tom do a portrait, and then lets him go.

 

* * *

 

“And that one?” Kurt points at a newspaper article right behind Sebastian’s head, his hands then going back to his unfinished cup of coffee. He’s been asking about every little piece of paper that hangs from the café’s walls for the past three days, as excited as a little kid and managing to insult Sebastian every time he comes across something he doesn’t know about.

This time, the article he’s chosen is one from an old horse race, one of his granddad’s passions. Sebastian remembers how much his grandma hated it, that his granddad spent so much hard earned money betting on horses. Granddad was good, though, he knew the races and the horses, and every time he won some big price he hung the article at his little café. Sebastian tells Kurt this, and Kurt smiles softly, wistfully, as if picturing the kind of life Sebastian’s grandparents may have had.

It’s a slow morning at the café, since the early crowd has already left, and Sebastian is free to answer all of Kurt’s questions, just as Tom is free to keep sketching away. He’s fascinated with Kurt, and if Sebastian is honest, he’s not the only one. Kurt’s been coming to the café every day since the other night, and Sebastian finds himself excited at the prospect of talking to him almost constantly.

“Do you ever hang anything yourself?” Kurt asks after a while. Sebastian looks at him as Kurt fixes a few sugar packets so they form a perfect square, and has to fight the urge to stop him. He’s noticed the quirks, the way Kurt touches his nose three times whenever he talks about his father, and the way his hands keep forming patterns and figures. “Sebastian?” Kurt asks after a beat, looking at him and poking his cheek when he notices how much Sebastian has spaced out.

Sebastian bats his hand away and then keeps it trapped under his own and on top of the counter. He tells himself that it’s only so Kurt stops rearranging his sugar.

“Not really, just a few things,” Sebastian says, answering Kurt’s question while shrugging. “A few pictures and such.” He points to a wall behind Kurt, where he’s put a few pictures only because there was nothing there, and his granddad hated empty walls.

Kurt stands up and goes to them, inspects them and touches the edges, and it seems like he wants to live the memories that are kept inside. Sebastian hears him murmur _I do miss the blazer_ and he smiles, thinking of the shot of The Warblers they took before Sectionals senior year. He thinks of Hunter and their long lost friendship, and has to fight to bury the memories where he can’t reach them.

“He’s kind of breathtaking, isn’t he?” Tom whispers suddenly, stepping close to Sebastian and showing him his sketching pad even while still looking at Kurt. Sebastian looks at the sketch, studies the soft lines that create Kurt’s face, and the only bit of color Tom has used to perfect Kurt’s eyes. Tom’s talented, and Kurt’s definitely a good subject to paint.

“Your gay is showing, Tom,” Sebastian jokes, and when Kurt looks back at them, he’s smiling.

He walks back toward his seat at the counter while Tom says, “I’m perfectly comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much. Don’t be bitter because I rejected you, Seb.”

Kurt laughs and Sebastian looks affronted for a second before he smacks Tom’s arm. “The only reason I came on to you in the first place is because you screamed at me from the other side of a park that I had the most beautiful piercing green eyes you’d ever seen.”

“Well, it’s still true,” Tom says, a big smile on his face. He’s so heartwarming in his honesty that Sebastian can’t find it in him to be mean, even when Tom’s sexuality tends to be more than fluid when he’s drunk.

The morning ticks by slowly, and by the time Paulette shows up to cover her shift, Kurt’s consumed enough coffee that he’s a little hyper. They’ve been talking about his show, mostly, and Sebastian can’t help but wonder what the hell Kurt Hummel is doing working on a show he hates so far away from home. Not for the first time, he wonders if maybe Kurt is running away from something.

Once Sebastian’s shift is over, he plans for a short meal at home so he can work on the accounts and set a few appointments with his suppliers, but Paulette all but bullies him into taking Kurt out to lunch, claiming that a bit of sun won’t hurt him either. Sebastian wants to say that there’s no freaking sun outside, but Kurt looks happy at the suggestion, and Sebastian can’t say he doesn’t like the idea himself.

He takes Kurt to a small restaurant a few streets away. It’s old and a little dark, and whenever he moves, he almost hits the guy sitting on the table behind him. It’s pure Paris, and Sebastian loves it.

“I like this place,” Kurt tells him, and not for the first time Sebastian thinks that Paris suits Kurt.

They are two glasses of wine into their meal when Sebastian says, “Ok, so, romantic history. I know nothing of your love life, Kurt Hummel, and I want to hear everything.”

Kurt gives him a _look,_ bitchy and glaring, and had they been younger and at the Lima Bean it would have been filled with hatred. Right now, it’s a look Sebastian is getting used to, and he likes it because there’s fondness behind it.

“You just want to ask about Blaine,” Kurt says.

Sebastian smiles, sheepish. “Guilty as charged. Is it awful that I want to know why pocket warbler isn’t following you around the city of love?”

Kurt shrugs, turns his eyes away to hide a bit of a sad look. Sebastian hates that reaction, if only because he’s a little obsessed with the light that shines in Kurt’s eyes whenever he’s happy.

“It’s not like that anymore,” Kurt says, low and breathy. Then, with a small smile and looking back up at Sebastian, he says, “But I’m going to need _a lot_ more alcohol if you want the story.”

“Deal,” Sebastian says almost immediately. “You and me, Friday night. There will be alcohol and stories. As a matter of fact, if you tell me the full story of Kurt Hummel’s love life, I will repay in kind.” Sebastian smiles, then continues, “Please don’t be afraid to share tears and dirty details.”

Kurt laughs, and throws a sugar packet at him that hits Sebastian right in the face. Sebastian can’t help but notice how throwing it breaks the pattern Kurt had been building on the table.

“You’re kind of crazy, aren’t you, Sebastian?” Kurt asks, and the way his name comes out of his mouth is almost a caress. Almost everyone in his life tends to shorten it, but Kurt always pronounces the whole thing, his tongue curling around the syllables in a way Sebastian can feel on his skin.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, princess.”

 

* * *

 

That night, alone in his apartment full of books, Sebastian jerks off thinking about Kurt. He thinks of his bright eyes, of his pink mouth and of the long column of his neck. Kurt is always so covered up in layers of clothes that it’s difficult to go much farther than that, but Sebastian manages to conjure the image of opening up just enough buttons to catch a glimpse of Kurt’s collarbones and the curve of them as they turn into Kurt’s strong shoulders. He thinks of the pale skin, of the small freckles that he’s sure cover all of it. He takes his time, thinks of his fingers sliding down Kurt’s neck, of his lips touching a shoulder, and he comes hard.

He thinks of Kurt later, breathing hard under his covers. He wants to think that his near obsession is a passing thing, but he just jerked off to a freaking shoulder, so there has to be more to it than that. He likes Kurt, this Kurt that is a little sad and that prefers to spend his time with him rather than with his horrible coworkers, this Kurt that is as bitchy and diva-ish as he remembers but that now teases where before he meant to offend. He likes that despite looking sad, he still smiles when Sebastian teases him. He likes him so much, that he almost makes Sebastian want to get up and write about him.


	4. Chapter 4

He takes Kurt out for coffee next afternoon, to a little place right in front of the Eiffel Tower that he calls clichéd and touristy but that Kurt seems to love precisely for those reasons. Later, they stroll down the busy streets, and then take a seat at a bench in a tiny park. Sebastian thinks it’s too cold to be sitting outside, but Kurt’s cheeks are pink from the wind, and he’s smiling, so he concedes.

“I should get going,” Kurt says after a few silent minutes have passed between them. “Rehearsal,” he explains when Sebastian looks at him. When Sebastian makes as if to stand up, though, he stops him by curling his hand around his arm, murmuring, “Just five more minutes.”

Sebastian nods, and when Kurt leans his head on his shoulder and closes his eyes, he pretends that it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s almost teasing, the way Sebastian momentarily pictures little moments like this in his future, with Paris around him and Kurt by his side, soft eyelashes a contrast to his pinkish cheeks.

“Kurt,” he starts after a bit, “why are you working on something you hate so much?”

Kurt shrugs, not moving from his spot on Sebastian’s shoulder, and says, “It’s a job, isn’t it? There’s not a lot of work for _someone like me_ , anyway.”

Sebastian knows what he means, he does because Kurt says _someone like me_ as if he’s started to believe the comments he’s probably heard while trying to make a Broadway career happen. Sebastian can almost hear them, too – effeminate, too high voice, not male lead material – and the fact that he used things like that to rile Kurt up in the past is a little painful. Still, he sneers when he says:

“Sounds like you’re throwing yourself a pity party there, princess.”

Kurt snaps almost immediately, moving away from his shoulder and opening bright, angered eyes. Sebastian had almost forgotten the force one single look from Kurt could have.

“Yes, well, at least I’m putting myself out there,” he says, quick and snappish.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sebastian counters.

“I’m trying to pursue my passion, aren’t I? It would be much easier to get stuck in the family business and forget all about it, wouldn’t it, Sebastian?” And if his name had been a caress on Kurt’s mouth just yesterday, today it feels like a punch.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you get angry every time I mention your writing, even when you so clearly love the idea and the possibilities,” Kurt says. “I know that you’re afraid of changing one single article in that café because that would mean getting involved! So don’t talk to me about _pity parties,_ Sebastian.”

“Well, someone _has to_ , Kurt. You recoil every time the conversation moves to anything personal, and you’re so stuck in a bad place right now that you jumped at the opportunity of seeing anyone familiar, even if it was me!”

“You’re right, you know? What was I thinking, pretending that I could be your friend.” He lifts his hands up, as if frustrated, and after a huff, he turns around and starts walking away.

Sebastian reacts almost immediately. He’s angry and frustrated, too, and he doesn’t want Kurt to leave like that when he’s not exactly sure what they’re fighting about anymore.

“Kurt!” He calls out. “Kurt, wait!” He goes after him and reaches out, circling his wrist firmly and tugging so that Kurt looks back at him. When he does, Sebastian’s reproaches die in his mouth almost immediately. Kurt isn’t crying, not exactly, but he looks more upset than angry. Sebastian recoils, takes a step back.

They stay like that for a few seconds, looking at each other, in a standstill. The wind is too cold and Sebastian’s skin feels dry and uncomfortable. He doesn’t know where to go from here, doesn’t know why the idea of loosing these weird relationship he has with Kurt feels so wrong. Most of all, he doesn’t know what to say, but when he starts talking, what comes out is something he’s never talked about before.

“My mom died,” he starts. Kurt gasps, low and sudden, and Sebastian can feel his own tears starting to fight his anger. “I–” he coughs, keeps talking, “I wanted to be a dancer, but I screwed up my knee playing lacrosse, so that went down the drain. But I wanted to write, _I did_ Kurt, but my dad thought it was stupid, and I studied law because I wanted him to be proud and I was good at it. It wasn’t enough. It’s just–” he breathes in, let’s the air out through his mouth, fights the tears. “It’s never enough with him. He didn’t love me any more than before, and he never really loved my mom. He loved this _idea_ of what a perfect wife and son are supposed to be, so when they got a divorce I followed mom here.”

“Sebastian, you don’t have to–I’m sorry, I don’t–”

“No, let me finish,” he says. “Let me tell you.” Because suddenly all Sebastian wants is for Kurt to _know._ “Everything I loved was here, you know? The memories of my grandparents, the café, the city, _mom._ But she–” he breaks, can’t stop himself from sobbing softly. “She didn’t tell me about the cancer until she was almost gone, and then she just–She died and that was that. I thought I had so much to say, so much to write about, but every time I think about going back to it everything that comes out is depressing and I _can’t._ I just can’t, Kurt.” He stops, breathes in again and it hurts because he’s crying and his throat is closing. “And the café is all I have left of granddad and grandma and mom, and it’s stupid and cowardly but I love it. I really do, so I just–”

“God, Sebastian, stop. Please, I–I’m so sorry, Sebastian.” His name is a caress yet again on Kurt’s lips, so soft and light that Sebastian can’t find it in himself to stop the tears.

Kurt reaches out, presses his hands to Sebastian’s arms and brings him in until they’re hugging, close and tight. Sebastian lets the comfort fill him, lets his tears fall on Kurt’s soft scarf. He feels breathless, like he’s run a marathon, and he wishes he could just lie down and sleep for hours, preferably with Kurt by his side. They just hug instead, the cold no longer so biting as they keep each other close.

Half an hour later they find themselves sitting back on the same park bench. Kurt’s supposed to be rehearsing, but it’s almost like they can’t bear to part ways just now. They’re sitting close, too, their thighs and arms pressing together through their layers of clothing.

“I really do hate the show,” Kurt says after a while. It’s a near mumble, but when he keeps talking, his tone is steady. “I wanted to get away, though. I love New York, and Blaine and Rachel, I _do.”_ He stresses the word out, like he has to remind himself of it sometimes. “They can be so stifling sometimes, though. With Rachel, it’s like she’s this fragile little star. You have to look at her, be amazed at her shine, but be ready to catch her at the smallest of obstacles in the way. It’s easy, most of the time. I mean, she’s so talented.” Kurt looks at him, as if waiting for confirmation, and Sebastian nods, because what little he remembers of Rachel Berry is that she was talented.

“But…?” he prompts when Kurt stops.

“It’s _so tiring_ to be there for her when she never seems to pay back the favor. Broadway seems to bow at her feet, but when she gets the smallest of criticism everyone has to rush and tell her how great she is.”

“But when you get constantly criticized no one does that for you?” Sebastian wonders aloud.

“It’s always like, like–” he stops, breathes in hard, and then continues, “oh, no, Kurt, you’re _wonderful,_ but you know, not for _that_ part.” He licks his lips, and Sebastian can nearly see the anger shimmering in his eyes. “I’m never going to be right for any part, it seems. But I got this, at least, and I thought, why not? I’ve always wanted to visit Europe, anyway.” He shrugs. “I thought I’d do some soul searching or whatever, too, but I can’t soul search anything with Amanda constantly screeching around me.”

“That’s the rude, loud one, right?”

“The one and only. Although they’re all kind of rude and loud.”

Sebastian chuckles despite himself, just a little, and Kurt smiles a little at him. He’s exhausted, but at least his tears have subsided and Kurt is talking to him. His hands seem to be still, too, instead of moving around in an obsessive manner.

“What did you want to soul search about?” he asks, sniffing a bit. He feels like he’s cried more for the last few minutes than he’s done in years.

“I was thinking about quitting the business, going into fashion, maybe. I had an internship at Vogue.com for a while, and I loved it, so, why not? The singing thing is not working for me, anyway, but I don’t want to feel like I just gave up.”

“You don’t wanna stick with it if it’s making you miserable, though.”

Kurt looks at him, blinks so slowly that Sebastian has time to detail the blue of his eyes disappearing and appearing again. “You’re the first person that’s said that to me, you know?” Kurt says. “Everyone always tells me to stick to singing, that I’ll make it eventually, that I’m a star and all that.”

“Sounds like a lot of mindless blah, blah, blah to me,” Sebastian says, shrugging. “Not that you’re not talented, but why push for something you don’t want anymore? I mean, if you want to do the singing thing, keep at it, if not, well… I think you’d be good at fashion stuff, too.”

Kurt looks at him, lifts an eyebrow. “That’s the second time you say something nice about my fashion sense, you know?”

Sebastian smiles a little, feels good at leaving the aching feelings he’s had through the last hour leave him. “Look, you’re wearing turquoise pants. I don’t know how that’s a valid choice _ever,_ but you clearly know something I don’t here. I’ve seen a lot of crazy outfits in this city, and you seem to understand what’s happening. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with wearing simple pants and a shirt.”

Kurt scrunches his nose, as if Sebastian has said something offensive, but he smiles anyway and searches blindly for Sebastian’s hand. They’re both wearing gloves, but when their palms touch, Sebastian can feel the heat between them.

“You had this shirt,” Sebastian starts suddenly, remembering their days back in Lima, “It had a crooked weird collar that made it look like you were wearing it wrong, or something. It made me _so mad,_ you have no idea. It was like it defied the whole concept of what a shirt is supposed to be.”

Kurt laughs then, happy and free, like they haven’t spent their afternoon yelling and crying. “That was probably the whole point of it.”

Sebastian squeezes Kurt’s hand, has the sudden urge to kiss him. He’s been wanting to kiss him for a while, truth be told, his pinkish lips a near constant temptation, but they’re both sad and talking about everything that’s wrong with their lives, and if they do kiss, Sebastian wants it to be at a better moment. Instead, since they seem to be in a confession mood, he asks:

“So, uh, what about Blaine?” When Kurt looks questioningly at him, he clarifies, “You said Rachel _and_ Blaine were stifling.”

Kurt sighs and lets go of his hand only to press both of his together. Sebastian sees him tap three times against his ring finger, and understands why when he starts talking.

“I married him,” he says, and Sebastian can feel his eyes opening up hugely because _that_ was unexpected. “He asked after Regionals senior year, and I should’ve said no, but it was _Blaine_ and I loved him, and I wanted to believe in our Disney romance, so.” He shrugs. “It was kind of a mess, of course.”

“Wait a sec there, you married at _nineteen?_ ”

“It seemed like a good idea at time?” Kurt shrugs again, bites his lip softly until it’s almost white. “We were so sure we knew what we were doing, and we faked our way through it for two years, but it was terrible. We were still figuring out what we wanted and we got ourselves into this whole compromise we didn’t know how to handle. We were living together all of a sudden, and worrying about adult stuff when all we wanted to do was to enjoy college and New York and… fuck, it was awful.”

Sebastian cringes a little. He can’t relate, but he knows what a clusterfuck it must have been.

“We didn’t speak for a whole year after we got divorced.”

“And now?” Sebastian asks. His voice is steady and he congratulates himself for it, because he can’t wrap his mind around the idea that Kurt is _divorced._

“We’re friends. We’re good at being friends, and it’s _Blaine._ I can’t just _not_ love Blaine.”

Sebastian nods, because that he can understand. His only real friend ever was Hunter, and even if they haven’t spoken for over a year after the most epic fight in their history, he can’t say he doesn’t still love the bastard.

“He’s just so…” Kurt continues. “It’s like–I don’t even know how to say it.” He huffs, frustrated, but continues anyway. “He has this perfect boyfriend who adores him, ok? And he took NYADA by storm and then got a part in a musical on his first audition, and it’s not that he flaunts it, it’s just that–well–”

“He totally flaunts it?”

“God, yes!” Kurt exclaims, and he’s laughing, because what else is there to do? “It’s as if he was only ever miserable when he was with me, and now everything is perfect, and I want to be happy for him but it just pisses me off.”

Sebastian laughs, because Kurt has crossed his arms over his chest and has gone from this slightly saddened adult to a frustrated little kid in no time. He’s nearly pouting, too, and it’s charming.

“His boyfriend is dumb, anyway.” Kurt deadpans, fully pouting now, his lower lip jutting out _just so._

“Bitchy much?” Sebastian asks in between peals of laughter.

Kurt tries to hold his laughter in, but he can’t help but smile. Through it, though, he manages to stick his tongue out at Sebastian, and Sebastian knows, without a doubt, that they’re going to be just fine.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian leaves Kurt at the theater where he works, a soft smile and no words exchanged between them because they’ve done enough talking for one evening. Then, he walks back to the café, never mind the cold wind. He still feels exhausted, but he’s also breathing better. He’s never really talked about his mother or the reasons why he ended up keeping the café, probably because he’s too proud to show that kind of vulnerability, and probably because no one’s truly asked before. He’s not exactly sure why Kurt seems to care so much, but he certainly has a knack for asking the hard questions and getting Sebastian to answer.

He almost feels light on his feet by the time he reaches the café, and when he goes inside, he takes in the sight slowly, and smells the scent of coffee and pie. His contemplation is rudely interrupted by Ginette’s voice.

“’Bastian?” she asks from behind the counter. “There’s a pretty boy in your apartment. Is this a new thing for you?”

“There’s someone in my apartment?”

“Yeah, some guy came over asking for you,” Tom clarifies. He’s already grabbing his jacket, ready to leave, and Sebastian takes a moment to look at his watch and realize that it’s later than he thought. “We let him up,” Tom says.

“Some guy asked for me and you just let him up?” Sebastian wonders. He needs new employees, asap. These ones can’t be trusted, clearly.

“ _Ne sois pas stupide, ‘Bastian!”_ Ginette exclaims, a smile on her face. “He was in one of your pictures.”

Tom is the one to point at said picture, his finger landing right under Hunter Clarington’s face. Sebastian groans.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he says. Of course, today would be the day Hunter decided to randomly show up at his doorstep. “I’m going up; I’ll be right back so you can leave, Ginette.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, barely registering Tom’s loud _bye, Seb!_ on the way up to his apartment. There’s a door that connects it with the café, and he always keeps a key under the register in case of an emergency. Clearly, not his brightest idea.

He spots Hunter the moment he steps into the apartment, laying down awkwardly on his too small couch and sleeping soundly. He hasn’t even bothered to take off his shoes and there’s a packed suitcase next to the couch. Sebastian sighs, lets his shoulders relax as he walks towards the couch and sits down on the small table that’s in front of it. It gives him a good view of Hunter’s face, tired but soft in his sleep.

“Goddammit, Hunt, what are you doing here?” he wonders aloud. Without a second thought, though, he reaches out and cards his fingers through his hair for a second, the touch soft enough that he doesn’t risk waking Hunter up.

Sebastian brings his hand back with a sigh, and licks his lips. He needs to go back down to the café and cover the night shift, so it’s probably better that he just lets Hunter sleep and they can talk in the morning. He hasn’t seen Hunter in over a year, since that one fight in which they had said so many awful things that Sebastian had thought it was irreparable. Despite that, he can’t turn his back on him, not if he’s so desperate that he’s crossed the Atlantic to show up at his doorstep.

He’s mulling things over, looking at the little orange bottle of pills Hunter has left on the table by the couch, when he feels something moving against his legs. He looks down when the movement is accompanied by a purr, and a pair of big yellow eyes blinks up at him.

“Of course he brought you with him,” he says. He reaches down, scoops up Mr. Puss into his arms and walks out of the apartment with the cat mewling between his arms.

He closes the door behind him and goes back down to the café, where he leaves the cat on top of the counter.

"So cute!” Ginette exclaims almost immediately, reaching out towards the cat, which bats a paw halfheartedly at her.

“That cat is the devil,” Sebastian states, walking behind the counter and starting to make a cup of coffee for himself. He’s going to need a lot of caffeine to get through this night.

Ginette just gives him a sideways look, as if such a pretty little thing like Mr. Puss couldn’t possibly be Satan in disguise. Sebastian knows better, though. He’s lived with that cat, and the thing has destroyed more furniture and clothes than he can even remember.

After a while, he ushers Ginette out so she gets back home while it’s still a little early, and while drinking a cup of coffee, he fixes a bowl of milk for Mr. Puss.

“Alright, listen,” he says, placing the bowl in front of the cat and looking at him. “If you and I are going to spend some time together, we’re going to need a pact, ok? This is a peace offering.” He points at the milk, looks back at the cat. “So you better behave yourself.”

The cat meows at him, and then presses its face into the bowl. Sebastian’s positive the evil little thing has understood him. He has a feeling that it’s going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 5

When Hunter finally wakes up and comes down into the café, it’s well past four in the morning. There’s a small group of college kids drinking coffee and eating pie at one of the tables, speaking in low tones, as if not wanting to disturb the quiet atmosphere inside the café, and Mr. Puss is sleeping on the counter, seemingly content after being petted by every single customer tonight. Sebastian’s already smoked one cigarette, but the moment he sees Hunter, wearing the same clothes he was wearing before and with a terrible case of bed head, he starts craving a second one.

Hunter gives him a small look and curves just one side of his mouth as he sits down in front of him, tucking one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and pressing the other one against Mr. Puss’ fur. He caresses the cat, one, two, three times before his hand stills. There’s a bit of silence, filled only by the soft chatter coming from the college kids, and when Sebastian can’t take it anymore, he turns around and starts fixing a cup of coffee. It’s his thing, making coffee when he doesn’t know where to put his hands, and he wonders if that’s any different than Kurt rearranging sugar packets or Hunter and his constant three times repetition of every little action.

He pours the coffee and presents it to Hunter, watches as he puts sugar in it and then turns the spoon three times, clockwise. He’s reluctant to fill the silence, but he can’t help but remark:

“That bad, huh?”

Hunter shrugs. He’s looking down at the coffee, mesmerized. “It’s better now with the pills. But,” he stops, shrugs, “you know.”

Sebastian does know. He’s seen every stage of Hunter’s OCD, from nearly attacking some poor guy who gave him splenda to developing little quirks to deal with his anxiety. He’s seen him go through therapy, pills and silly new treatments that promised calm. It’s always been a struggle, though, and Sebastian knows it’s always going to be, pills or no pills.

He doesn’t know what to say, and is slightly reminded of the first time Kurt walked into the café. He hasn’t spoken to Hunter in such a long time that he doesn’t know how to go about it, and he’s a little too proud to let go and confess that he’s missed him. He’s not exactly sure how they got stuck with each other, if it was only because no one else liked them, but Sebastian can easily say that Hunter has been his one and only friend, and that he’s one of the few people he’s ever trusted.

He’s been quiet for a little too long when Hunter’s shoulders sag, making him look tiny and dejected. Sebastian can feel the tiredness rolling off of him in waves.

“Look, Bas,” he says, “I’m sorry for barging into your life like this, I shouldn’t have, not after–”

“No, it’s okay.” Sebastian smiles a little, presses his hand to the counter and spreads his fingers wide, staying still. Hunter once told him that it calmed him, looking at a still hand like that, and _wow_ , is Hunter going to _love_ Kurt’s twitchy hands. Sebastian startles himself with the certainty of his thought, this idea that there’s no way Hunter and Kurt won’t cross paths now that they’re back in his life, that they should meet because they’re both important to Sebastian. Sebastian bites his lip a little, hating the way his mind keeps teasing him with these made up certainties that are nothing but speculation.

After a while, Sebastian asks, “Why don’t you get some sleep, Hunt? We can talk in the morning.”

“I–huh, your apartment’s really messy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your books are all scattered, no order whatsoever, and there’s clothes everywhere, Sebastian! I was seriously tired before, but now I just want to put some order in there.”

Sebastian huffs, offended. “Chaos is a form of order, you know?” he counters.

“Romantic notion, but _no._ ”

And then Sebastian laughs. He laughs because _fuck_ , he’s _missed_ Hunter, OCD and all, and he hates that they’ve been on non-speaking terms for so long when their fight stopped hurting so long ago. Sebastian watches the mirth fill Hunter’s eyes, and feels a surge of protectiveness that feels unfamiliar just because he hasn’t had anyone to care for for what feels like a lifetime.

“What happened, Hunt?” he asks quietly.

“I quit my job, fought with my parents, and when I got too difficult to live with Sarah left.” He says it all in a rush, as if tearing a band-aid. “Honestly, I didn’t know where the fuck to go, and sadly, you’re my only friend.”

“You really hated that job,” Sebastian says, because he remembers how much effort Hunter put behind his business degree just to please his father, and how much he complained every step of the way.

"And fighting is basically the only form of communication I have with my parents, so.” He shrugs, dejected.

Sebastian nods, says, “I’m sorry about Sarah.”

“Me, too, but we were just clinging to the memories, honestly.” He smiles a sad little smile, and says, “I just needed a few days away from everything.”

“Stay as long as you want,” Sebastian says, surprising himself with the honesty of his offer.

Hunter smiles again, and looks down, suddenly bashful. Sebastian watches him tap the counter three times before looking up and asking, sheepishly, “Can I clean your apartment?”

Sebastian groans. “Clean the stupid apartment if it makes you happy. But keep your cat away from my furniture.”

Hunter smiles at him then, a little stupidly and a lot bright, and then proceeds to start drinking the coffee that must already be cold. Sebastian rolls his eyes, affectionately.

It’s only a few minutes before the café is invaded by a new wave of customers and Sebastian starts moving around, comfortable in this little place of the world in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. At some point during the night, Hunter murmurs softly _You seem happy, Bas_ and he just shrugs and smiles, because one of the themes of their epic fight of doom had been how Sebastian would never be happy just running a café. Truth be told, Hunter had accused him of many things Kurt had accused him of again just this afternoon, and if he’s honest with himself, both of them had been a little too accurate for his liking.

Sebastian loves his little café with all his heart, but it’s true that time seems to stop when he spends his days here, and sometimes he forgets about everything else he’d always wanted to do with his life. Kurt has asked the uncomfortable questions, and with Hunter now here too, it’s almost like they’re clamoring for him to remember about his long forgotten dreams.

 

* * *

 

“… it’s like it’s a whole new place, honestly,” Sebastian is saying next afternoon, Kurt nodding and smiling at him as they walk towards the café. “There are tables in there I don’t remember ever having.”

Kurt laughs, delighted. It’s snowing just a bit, and the snowflakes keep clinging to his impossibly long eyelashes and to the stupid feather of his hat. He looks tempting, Sebastian thinks, not for the first time wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. It seems almost fitting, kissing this boy in this tiny street of Paris, but he doesn’t.

“You seem happy,” Kurt tells him.

Sebastian shrugs. “I’ll deny it with my whole being if you tell him, but I’ve missed the idiot. I think I may have even missed the cat.”

Kurt laughs, looks up at him. “I’m positive the cat is not actually evil, Sebastian.”

“You tell me when you see the little monster. He’ll fool you with his furry face, but then you’ll see that it’s like staring at pure evilness.”

Kurt rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, just so Sebastian can tell how ridiculous Kurt thinks he’s being. “What exactly happened between you two?” Kurt asks after a bit of silence.

Sebastian doesn’t say anything for a while, enjoying the way they’re walking so close that their hands keep brushing against one another. They’re both wearing gloves, and the two layers between them feel like too much and not enough at the same time.

“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” he asks, finally. When Kurt gives him a questioning look, he clarifies, “Drinks and the full story of our surely awful love life?”

“Ah. Yes, of course.”

“I’ll tell you then.”

“Ohh,” Kurt says, clapping a little, excited, “Color me intrigued.”

Sebastian chuckles, looking at Kurt behave like a five year old. He’d been surprised by Kurt’s silly side more than by anything else, perhaps because a part of him had still been holding to the notion of the bitchy Kurt he’d meet back in Lima, but he kind of loves his stupid dances and excited claps.

“You’re excited,” he says, teasing.

“I do love a good piece of gossip,” Kurt says, “and I’ve heard quite a bit about this Hunter of yours. I can’t wait to meet him.”

Sebastian groans. “They told you about the Splenda incident, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers, nodding. “I have to say I agree with him, though. Splenda _does_ taste like pencils.”

Sebastian laughs, just a little, because _damn_ are Kurt and Hunter going to like each other.

“Be sure to tell him that,” he says. “You’ll have his heart forever.”

            

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes into their first conversation, Sebastian would swear that Kurt and Hunter are half in love. They click instantly, even when Hunter is obsessively cleaning the counter at the café while Kurt accuses Mr. Puss of being a vile creature.

“He’s a cat,” Hunter is saying, “of course he’s gonna go for the sweater.”

Kurt glares, because the first thing the cat had done had been go for Kurt’s weird, soft, hole-y sweater that seems to fulfill every purpose _but_ keep Kurt warm.

“Maybe it was just an opinion on your fashion sense,” Sebastian remarks, smiling.

Kurt sticks his tongue out at him, but says, “I will forgive that remark on my fabulous clothes if you give me free cake.” And honestly, the way Kurt is looking at him, earnest eyes and making grabby hands, there’s no way Sebastian is going to deny him anything.

“Oh yeah, by the way Hunt,” Sebastian asks, once Kurt is happily settled with his cake, “why exactly are you cleaning the place?”

“I was bored,” he answers, shrugging, before pointing a finger at where Paulette is serving one of the tables, “she gave me cleaning supplies.”

Sebastian looks at Paulette, who shrugs just like Hunter and tells him, “ _I’l avait l’air de s’ennuyer_.” And honestly, they don’t speak each other’s language and they have answered the same thing. It’s strange, the way Hunter seems to be fitting so seamlessly into his life.

“You should have come for lunch with us,” Sebastian tells Hunter, who simply shrugs yet again. He’s fixated on a spot of the counter that is so clean Sebastian can nearly see his face in it. Kurt gives him a questioning look, and Sebastian mouths _later._

“You could come have a drink tomorrow, though,” Kurt says, “We’re taking Tom, so.”

Sebastian looks at Kurt and says, “Bet you a drink Tom’s gonna fixate on Hunt’s lips.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and then takes a minute to appraise Hunter’s profile, the sharpness of his cheeks, the hardness of his jaw and the plump set of his lips. With a sigh, Kurt says, “I’m not making a bet I will lose.”

Sebastian laughs a little, and Hunter looks at them both like they’ve gone a little crazy before going back to his cleaning. Sebastian gives him a worried look, and Kurt must notice, because he’s looking at Hunter too, hands busy with the rag. Something must tick for him too, because he holds his fork tighter in his hand and presses his other free one to the counter, as if willing them to stay still.

“Anyway,” Sebastian says, trying to break the standstill, “I should get some work done this afternoon.”

“And I should go to the theater,” Kurt says, pressing his elbow to the table and supporting his head on his hand. He whines, “I don’t wanna.”

“You want to, uh, come up for a bit?” Sebastian asks, looking at anything but Kurt because he doesn’t know how to make the offer sound innocent. Honestly, he just wants Kurt to stay for a while longer, and he wants him to see the apartment, because it is just as tiny and charming as the café and Kurt’s going to love it. Still, in his mind, it sounds like an offer for sex. Which, yeah, okay, maybe not the last thing on Sebastian’s mind, but not the first either.

Still, Kurt answers with a soft smile, saying, “Sure, yes, just for a bit.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Kurt fixates on is the view of the street from the big window that lights up the place. Sebastian loves that window and sitting by it with a good book and a glass of wine, and is surprised when Kurt points out _I can picture you reading here_ almost wistfully.

Sebastian sits down on the couch and lets Kurt do his investigating. There’s not a lot to see, but the apartment does have a bit of a dramatic quality to it, with its dark wood and books all around. There’s a little desk with Sebastian’s work computer, and now that Hunter’s put some order, his laptop is set up right next to it. Sebastian had dared to open it just last night, had gone to his folder named _unfinished stuff and ideas_ and had let the documents there glare at him accusingly. He barely remembers everything that’s in there, even if he remembers how there was a time in his life in which he wrote down every little idea that came to mind.

Sebastian’s not exactly sure at which point he gave up on his writing, how he went from having words pouring out of him to having nothing to say, but the thought is unsettling. He’s going to re-read everything in that folder, and he’s going to be honest with himself and discard stuff and keep stuff and work around his own fears. He’s promised himself that he’s going to, but he doesn’t know where to start just yet.

“You’re spacing out on me, Sebastian.”

Sebastian snaps, looking up and at Kurt, and smiles softly. “Yeah, sorry.” He breathes in, and then, “So, you like it?”

“It’s lovely,” Kurt says, “Although I’m glad I came after Hunter put some order in here.”

“Well, I’ll have you know my unorganized piles of books were very romantic and bohemian.”

Kurt snorts. “Yeah, that excuse is probably worse than when Finn tried to convince my dad that his room was organized but that he was the only one who could understand the order.”

“I was happy with it, anyway, but you just can’t leave Hunter alone in a messy place.”

“Yeah, about that…” Kurt starts, letting the sentence linger in the air.

“OCD,” Sebastian tells him, simple and fast. He doesn’t know if Kurt will see himself reflected in his words, if he’s ever acknowledged his little quirks as something more than that, but Sebastian knows that walking on his tiptoes around the subject won’t do them any good. “It gets better sometimes, but I think he’s in a bad place right now.”

Kurt nods and his smile gets tight, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to talk about it, Sebastian knows, and maybe it’s better like this. Maybe Kurt should talk to Hunter, anyway, if he wants to talk to anyone at all.

“Right, yeah,” Kurt says, dismissing the subject almost immediately by turning towards an old open closet right by the window. “This doesn’t look too organized,” he points out.

“That’s my mom’s stuff,” Sebastian explains, “Hunt didn’t want to mess with that.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, instead biting his lower lip and taking a step closer to the closet. It’s mostly knick knacks and some old clothes, but Sebastian can’t bear to part with them. The whole apartment is scattered with pictures of her, too, but Sebastian thinks he has the right to cling to his memories of her.

Kurt’s looking at his mom’s favorite dress, a white and blue classic one Sebastian remembers her wearing at his graduation.

“She loved that dress,” he says. He’s not looking at Kurt but at the window, where the street is busy and loud. He can tell that Kurt is looking at him, waiting for him to continue. Sebastian never talks about his mother, but after unloading to Kurt the other day, he feels free to do so now. “She used to say that she was always wearing the same thing when we took pictures, but she couldn’t bear getting rid of it or not wearing the thing. I think dad sort of hated it, but she looked beautiful. She always did, anyway. It’s silly keeping it, but.” He shrugs, stops there. He doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence.

“It’s not silly, Sebastian.” Kurt’s voice is soft but sure, and when Sebastian looks back at him, his eyes are a little bright. He doesn’t say anything else, though, doesn’t tell him that he understands, doesn’t offer meaningless platitudes or shares a similar story about his own mother. He just looks at him, unblinking, sure in his statement that missing his mom is not something silly. Sebastian’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone this bad. And it’s this foreign feeling of wanting Kurt, just wanting him thoroughly and deeply that fills him up from head to toe. It’s not just wanting to hook up, but wanting _Kurt._

“Sebastian,” Kurt says, so soft he almost misses it, “you’re staring.”

Sebastian nods. He’s staring, and he’s going to stand up and walk towards Kurt and kiss him and never let him go. He breathes out, as if exhausted, and right when he’s starting to move up from the couch the door to the apartment opens and Hunter stumbles in.

“Fuck, I’m tired,” he says right before throwing himself on the couch and face planting on Sebastian’s crotch.

Sebastian takes one longing look at Kurt, who is now blushing furiously and looking down at his own shoes, before saying, “Hunt, your face on my crotch doesn’t really help your not even remotely bisexual case.”

“Shut up, I’m comfy.”

Sebastian groans. Honestly, sometimes he’s befuddled by the people he chooses to like. He’s considering smacking Hunter’s head when Kurt coughs, and without looking directly at Sebastian, starts putting on his coat and fixing his scarf.

“I should go,” he says, “see you both tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Sebastian says, nodding.

Kurt says goodbye with a small wave, wiggling his fingers just a bit before walking out of the apartment. Once he’s left, Sebastian sighs, already too deflated to either smack Hunter or call him an idiot.

“So what’s the deal here?” Hunter says after a bit, turning around so he can look up at Sebastian, “You in love with Kurt?”

Sebastian bites the inside of his mouth, represses his urge to sigh or groan or run away after Kurt and go back to that moment in which kissing had seemed like the only option. Instead, he smacks Hunter’s forehead, and says, “You’re an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks so much for your lovely comments!
> 
> I just wanted to let you know I won't be updating at all next week, because I have a work related trip.


	6. Chapter 6

Next day, they pick Kurt up at the theater, right after his show, and as they stand outside in the cold, Sebastian wonders why they didn’t just go and _see_ the show. Sebastian’s been wanting to for a while now, but maybe he’s reluctant to be a willing participant of something that seems to be draining Kurt of his life energy. On the other hand, he can’t help but want to see Kurt on a stage.

Kurt spots them the moment he comes out of the building, probably because Tom is swinging back and forth nervously on his heels.

“Will you stop that?” Hunter chastises suddenly. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sorry, yeah,” says Tom immediately. “I’m just excited. We got Sebastian out of the café at this hour of the night; this is _epic_.”

“Really?” is the first thing Kurt says when he reaches them. He looks at Sebastian, mirth in his eyes, and says, “Last I remember you were all about the night life.”

“Let’s not go back to our Scandals days, princess,” Sebastian retorts. “Besides, I live for change, just so I can keep you on your toes.”

Kurt chuckles, stepping closer to the three of them as he says, “Sebastian, you literally _live at a coffee shop_.”

Sebastian has to laugh. “Screw you, Hummel.” He throws his head back a little, remembers Kurt’s annoyed face at his constant presence at the Lima Bean back in their teenage years. It’s amazing how much of their little time spent together they both seem to remember.

"Can we go now?” Hunter asks, his fingers drumming a nervous beat against his own chest. “Or aren’t you two done flirting?”

Tom chuckles, and Sebastian throws Hunter a nasty look. They say nothing, though, and simply start walking, Kurt right at Sebastian’s side. They don’t look at each other, but just as always, their hands touch softly as they walk.

           

* * *

 

They go to a nice bar, where the music is low enough that they can hear each other and where the alcohol is expensive but good. Sebastian’s been here before, and he likes the place because the music is always old jazz standards and classic French vocalists, instead of the weird French rap most places seem to favor. It makes Sebastian feel a little old, but early into the night, Kurt had called it classy, so Sebastian is sticking with that idea.

Both of them are sitting on one of the small couches that line the walls of the place, only illuminated by a low lamp on the little table before them. They’re sitting closer than necessary, thighs pressed together and shoulders bumping as they speak softly while Hunter fights the crowd for a drink and Tom charms a group of girls nearby.

“Alright,” Sebastian says, “why the hell am I dating this dude relationship.”

Kurt lifts an eyebrow slowly, as if he’s been rehearsing the movement, and looks steadily at Sebastian. He’s had three glasses of wine already, and his cheeks are a little pink. Sebastian is well on his way to getting drunk, but the wine is good and he feels warm and comfy, so he takes a sip of his half full glass anyway.

“Did you just say _dude_?” Kurt asks, crinkling his nose in distaste.

Sebastian laughs, nodding and pressing a finger to Kurt’s nose, just because he can. Kurt bats his hand away, huffing.

“Well?” Sebastian prompts. They’ve chosen to tell their respective romantic stories by way of asking simple questions, almost as if they’re playing a game. It seems to Sebastian that they’re saving the heavy loaded questions for later, seeing as they’ve only talked about infatuations and one-date relationships that never went anywhere.

“James Collins,” Kurt says finally, answering his previous question. “He was an arrogant, snobbish jerk who insulted waiters for a hobby and who caused fights wherever he went and when asked about it said it was _his thing._ It lasted two whole weeks,” Kurt says, lifting two fingers up and right in front of Sebastian’s eyes, “and let me tell you, that was two weeks too long.”

Sebastian smiles, wiggles both eyebrows and asks, “So what’s the _real_ reason you dated that guy?”

“I was giving him a chance, of course,” Kurt says, lifting his nose up self-importantly and nodding. Sebastian just gives him a steady look that seems to tell Kurt just how much he isn’t fooling Sebastian. “Ok, ok,” Kurt concedes, “the sex was really good,” he breathes out, soft and low as if embarrassed.

Sebastian chuckles softly, touching his glass to Kurt’s and saying, “It’s good to know you can be shallow, princess.”

Kurt blushes, the color pretty on his cheeks and looking darker than usual under the low light of the place. He takes a long swallow of his drink, not looking at Sebastian.

“Fine, ok, now you,” Kurt says after a bit. Sebastian looks at him, expectant, and Kurt continues. “How about… dating this guy will please my dad relationship.”

Sebastian groans, lets his head fall down and rest on the back of the couch. He closes his eyes, presses them hard together and only opens them up when he feels Kurt’s fingers sliding over his knuckles. Kurt taps them three times, and Sebastian turns his hand around and grasps them in a soft grip.

"You don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to,” Kurt says.

Of course he doesn’t have to, but Sebastian has discovered that not talking to Kurt is not a realistic option. He hasn’t disclosed this much information about himself ever, to anyone, and maybe that’s why he has such a hard time connecting to people, because he never takes the time to just talk. The fact that he’s as interested in talking to Kurt as he’s in getting him naked certainly says a lot about what’s going on between them.

“I wish there was just one of those,” Sebastian says finally. “Not that they were ever relationships, mind you, only dates so dad would shut up.”

“Did you hate them all?” Kurt asks.

Sebastian shrugs. “I may have liked all of them if I had tried, who knows? But having the daddy approved seal sort of made me hate them on principle.”

“That bad?”

“Not really. Mostly, he just doesn’t care.” Sebastian shrugs yet again, looking at Kurt’s bright eyes. “When I was a teenager,” Sebastian starts, “I’d do stupid things just to piss him off, but it wouldn’t matter. He’s just indifferent most of the time. We don’t really talk much at all nowadays.”

Kurt twists his mouth, like the thought of an uncaring father is incomprehensible. Sebastian guesses that it must be hard for him to understand, since what little he’s heard of Burt Hummel has been nothing but wonderful. Kurt opens his mouth, ready to answer, when Hunter plops down next to him on the couch, carrying four drinks that he places on the table before dropping all of his weight on the back of the couch.

“Am I interrupting something?” Hunter asks, smiling and lifting both eyebrows.

It is only then that Sebastian notices how Kurt and him are sitting, nearly curled into each other, their hands tangled and resting on the place where their thighs meet. What surprises him the most is how easily they seem to fall into these patterns of closeness, mostly because he would have never pegged Kurt for the touchy-feely type.

He spaces out for a second, his eyes focused on their tangled hands, and when he looks back up, Kurt is smacking Hunter on the back of the head while Hunter whines about being so badly treated after bringing them drinks and everything. Sebastian smiles at both of them, probably a little stupidly, because he’s pleasantly buzzed and he feels content for the first time in what feels like ages.

“So, Hunt, tell us,” Kurt says after a bit, “what’s the weirdest relationship you’ve ever had?”

Hunter hums, looking up pensively, but Sebastian speaks for him, “Please, say you never dated anyone weirder than Crazy Monica.”

“Oh, fuck, Crazy Monica!” Hunter exclaims, looking at him with a smile. “I think I may have repressed her to avoid the trauma.”

“Explain, explain! Who’s Crazy Monica?” Kurt chimes, jumping a little in his seat.

“My first girlfriend,” says Hunter, turning to look at Kurt with a bit of a mad smile on his lips, “I’m pretty sure she was convinced she was a vampire. Five weirdest months of my life.”

“Five months?” Kurt exclaims, “Why would you date her for _five months_?”

“Honestly? I went to military school and then to an all male preppy school packed with gay guys. My only criteria back then was _will let me touch her boobs.”_

“Ugh, you’re a pig,” Kurt accuses.

Hunter lifts both eyebrows, looking first at Kurt and then at Sebastian. “I’m friends with Sebastian, what did you expect?”

Sebastian gasps, mock-offended, and brings a hand to his chest. “What are you implying, you fiend?” he says, half mocking a terrible British accent. “I would never date someone on the basis that they’d let me touch anything.” He receives near identical _oh, please_ looks from both of them. “What? I said I’d never _date_ them, I didn’t say anything about fuc–”

Please stop right there,” Kurt says, lifting a hand and rolling his eyes, “I was starting to like you, don’t ruin it.”

“You adore me, princess, don’t think you’re fooling anybody with your ice queen routine.”

Kurt huffs, lifting his nose up in the air in that way he has that Sebastian is actually starting to like. “I can’t be both a princess and a queen, Sebastian, you better make up your mind.”

“Ok-ay,” Hunter interrupts before Sebastian can retort, “I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds to your weird-ass flirting and try and take advantage of Tom’s mad game.”

Sebastian chuckles, watching as Hunter stands up and goes towards Tom, who’s currently surrounded by what seems to be an ever growing group of girls. When Sebastian looks back, Kurt’s giving him a look he’s never seen before, and he doesn’t know quite how to qualify.

“What?” he asks.

“Aww,” Kurt says, “you’ve _really_ missed him.” Sebastian just shrugs, not admitting for one second just how right Kurt is in his statement. “So, are you going to tell me that story?” he asks suddenly. “You promised.”

“Isn’t it my turn to ask?”

“Later. Now, gossip!”

“Christ, you’re a demanding little thing, princess.”

Kurt sticks his tongue out at him, and then, in a fast movement, changes both their empty glasses for the two full ones Hunter has left for them. Sebastian drinks, just a little sip, and then leaves the glass back on the table. He takes a minute to look at Kurt in his too tight pants and fitted vest, focusing his eyes on the visible skin of his neck and collarbones, previously covered by a scarf that’s now somewhere on the couch. When he finally looks up and into Kurt’s eyes, he feels more than ready to confess anything, and he doesn’t even find it in himself to wonder why.

“Hunter’s basically the only friend I’ve ever had,” he says, finally. He thinks that sentence might be a good way to start a book. “We didn’t see much of each other when I moved here, though, so I didn’t really know a lot of what was going on with his life, and I was so preoccupied with my own problems that I just, sort of, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Kurt lifts a single eyebrow, and looking at him with big eyes, says, “You acted like a selfish prick?”

Sebastian snorts. “Harsh, babe.”

Kurt scrunches up his nose, frowning a little at him. “I think I prefer princess to babe.” Sebastian goes to say something, but Kurt stops him by pushing his hand into his shoulder, and saying, “So? What horrible thing did you do to end your longtime friendship?”

“I slept with him,” Sebastian deadpans. “After my mom died,” he clarifies, voice going soft for a second, and one hand rubbing at his eyes. It’s not an easy time to remember, honestly. On the other hand, he’s never talked about this to anyone, and in between the wine and Kurt’s hand squeezing his own, he can’t say he doesn’t feel liberated.

“Oh, Sebastian, you don’t have to–”

“Shh, it’s ok.” Sebastian presses his thumb to Kurt’s lips, shushing him effectively. His skin is soft, a little dry from the cold, and Sebastian thinks that maybe it would be better to kiss Kurt and forget about retelling stories from their past. He’s conflicted, though, wanting to hear everything about Kurt, wanting to tell him everything about himself, and too afraid to kiss him because they’re doomed to separation.

He moves away, watches Kurt lick his lips after his finger is gone, and breathes in deeply. Before he can think any more about kissing Kurt’s stupid, pretty lips, he continues his story.

"He was seeing someone, and _I_ was seeing someone, but we were drunk and I was devastated, and he’d been having some troubles with his stupid family and his girlfriend and it was all a lot of bad decisions piled up together, honestly.” Sebastian shrugs. “You’re not supposed to sleep with your straight best friend, no matter the circumstances.”

“Wow, aren’t you clever, Sebastian?”

Sebastian smiles, pushes at Kurt’s shoulder playfully. “I’m baring my soul for you here, princess, don’t mock me.”

“Fine, fine,” Kurt concedes, lifting both hands up as if backing off. “So what happened?” he asks. “Huge fight, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian nods. “About life choices, and me being a coward, and selfish, and an idiot, and about Hunter molding his life to his parents’ wishes, and his OCD and how much we generally suck at being friends.”

Kurt cringes, like he can feel the pain himself. “And have you talked about it?”

“Not really. We probably will. God, do we really have to?” Sebastian finds himself whining. It’s true he hasn’t questioned Hunter’s presence back in his life too much, happy to ignore their problems back in the day and to have his friend back. A part of him is secretly hoping that they can glide over any serious conversations, if only not to upset the fragile balance they have acquired in the past few days.

Kurt is nodding at him, his eyes bright in the low light. He’s probably right, but Sebastian has always been terrible at facing his own feelings, and he doesn’t want to push Hunter into painful discussions.

They stay silent for a bit then, drinking slowly and alternately squeezing each other’s hand in some kind of silent reassurance. Kurt is the one to break the silence, moving closer to Sebastian and asking right against his ear:

“So was the sex any good?”

Sebastian laughs, surprised by the question, and looks at Kurt with a smile on his lips. “My, my, how scandalous you are tonight, Mr. Hummel. I’m going to have to get you drunk more often.”

“I’m not drunk!” Kurt whines, taking a sip of his drink as if to make a point. When he lowers the glass, he looks at Sebastian expectantly, and asks, “So? Was it?”

Sebastian shrugs. “It wasn’t terrible. You know, for a drunken straight guy.”

“Ooh, I’m telling him you said that.”

“Don’t you dare, princess,” Sebastian warns, pointing a menacing finger Kurt’s way.

“Or what?” Kurt asks, challenging.

“I’ll tickle you to death.”

“What? You wouldn’t–oh my God, Sebastian!” Kurt shrieks, so high-pitched and loud that Sebastian’s sure they have attracted an audience. He doesn’t care, though, not when he has his hands on Kurt’s sides and is tickling him for all his worth, Kurt’s laughter surrounding his senses completely. He looks at Kurt, smiling at his eyes full of laugh lines and at his hands, unsuccessfully trying to battle his own, and dear _God,_ he’s already half in love with this man and he doesn’t know how he’s going to stop himself from falling deeper.

“Oh, God, oh God, stop Sebastian, please, stop!” Kurt whines, and Sebastian can tell that he’s laughed so much that it already hurts, so he stops. He doesn’t move away though. Instead, he rests his now steady hands on Kurt’s waist and looks at him. They’re both breathing hard, and so, _so_ close. After a minute, Kurt murmurs, “God, I hate you.”

Sebastian just smiles, doesn’t even bother to tell Kurt how he knows that statement to be a lie. They stay silent, almost at a standstill, and Sebastian knows if he moves just a bit they’ll be kissing. The thought is entirely too tempting, much more so with Kurt’s hands resting on his arms and with his collarbones exposed. He smells good, and he feels good in his arms, and the only reason Sebastian is stopping himself from doing something about their closeness is the uncertainty of what exactly they’re supposed to be doing here. Kurt’s going to be leaving soon, and Sebastian doesn’t know if he’ll be able to take it if they get any more tangled than they already are.

Sebastian licks his lips, breathing in and out slowly, and starts talking just so he can pretend that there’s nothing going on.

“Even though I probably know the answer to this one,” he says, “love of your life?”

“Blaine,” he whispers, fast and low, and Sebastian notices that Kurt’s lips curl way more prettily when it’s his own name leaving them. “But let’s not,” Kurt starts, “let’s not talk about him tonight.” Kurt moves his hand up as he’s saying this, from its place on Sebastian’s bicep to the back of his neck. Sebastian can barely breathe, even when Kurt only touches his skin once he’s on his neck. “Love of _your_ life,” Kurt says, then.

“Gerard,” Sebastian breathes out. It takes that single whisper for them to start moving away. They settle back into their initial spots, Kurt’s fingers lingering for just a bit on Sebastian’s neck. “He was older, a literature teacher at La Sorbonne and I was stupidly in love, even if he loved mocking me,” Sebastian says. “I hadn’t thought about him in ages.”

Kurt hums, squeezes the hand he hasn’t released at any point during the night. “I bet he spoke to your inner literary snob.”

“I’m _not_ a literary snob,” Sebastian replies, mock-offended.

“ _Please,_ ” Kurt says, rolling his eyes, “You spent a whole hour lecturing us on Ray Bradbury and George Orwell the other day when Ginette said she liked The Hunger Games. I think you traumatized her.”

“I mean, _come on,_ if we’re going to be talking about dystopian futures and–”

“We’re not going to be talking about dystopian futures, we’re gossiping. Get with the program.”

Sebastian chuckles, says, “Wanna know a secret?”

“Of course, don’t you know me at all?”

Sebastian looks around him, as if ready to reveal something terrible, and whispers, “I secretly loved The Hunger Games.”

Kurt chuckles, happy, and says, “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, if you reveal that I will be forced to tickle you again. Be warned.”

“Oh no, not the tickling again,” Kurt says, putting the back of his hand to his forehead and overdramatizing his expression. Once he’s settled down, he looks at Sebastian, expectant.

Sebastian lifts both eyebrows, and continues their mutual interrogation with, “Biggest regret?”

Kurt answers in less than a second. “Adam,” he says. “I was too hung up on Blaine and I let it fizzle out. He was British and perfect and he thought I looked like Paul Newman. Who lets go of the guy who thinks you look like Paul Newman?”

“The guy obsessed with his high school sweetheart?” Sebastian wonders, and when Kurt pouts at him, playful but a little sad, he says, “No Blaine tonight, sorry.” He moves closer and presses a small kiss to Kurt’s temple. When he moves away, they’re close yet again, and Kurt is looking up at him with his big, blue eyes.

“Best sex ever?” Kurt asks, low and soft.

Sebastian shrugs, small, and can’t help but bring his hand up to Kurt’s cheek, press his fingers there softly. “Hard to say. Are we talking feelings or technique here?” He stops to breathe in slowly, watches as Kurt bites his lower lip, bright from the wine he’s drunk. “I prefer to think that there’s always better sex to be had.”

“Right, of course,” Kurt breathes out.

It’s almost impossible not to lean in, but Sebastian manages it. He stays put, just for a second, breathing Kurt’s scent in, before he moves away enough so that his senses aren’t invaded. Kurt seems to not want him to get away, though, since he moves closer yet again and arranges himself on the couch until he can rest his head on Sebastian’s chest. He snuggles close, and Sebastian can’t bring himself to push him away.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” Kurt says. “Let’s just… relax and drink.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian whispers. “Let’s just relax and drink.”


	7. Chapter 7

It’s nearly three in the morning when they leave the bar, Tom hanging between Hunter and Sebastian and dragging his feet halfheartedly. “You’re so pretty,” he’s saying, his speech just the little bit slurred, “and your friends are soooo pretty. Is that how you choose them?” He’s looking at Sebastian while trying to poke his cheek, missing spectacularly.

“Oh, definitely,” Sebastian answers, matter-of-factly. “There’s an audition and everything.”

Kurt chuckles next to him, punches his shoulder softly when Tom begins to nod enthusiastically and to babble about complicated audition processes. They’re all a little tipsy, though, so when Tom’s longwinded and drunken speech ends, they end up walking in silence through the cold streets. The wind seems to sober Tom up a little, but Sebastian doesn’t let him go home on his own, and instead tells him to spend the night on his couch.

“You’re staying, too,” Sebastian says, reaching out towards Kurt when he makes as if to walk in a different direction.

“My hotel is just a couple of blocks away from here.”

Sebastian shakes his head, finishes the movement of his arm to wrap his hand around Kurt’s wrist. “I don’t want to feel responsible if you die in some dark Parisian alley, Kurt.”

Kurt blinks, parts his lips as if to say something, but it’s Hunter who speaks first, saying, “It’s ok, Kurt, Bas has a huge bed. You can share.”

Sebastian glares at him, stops himself from looking at Kurt and the possible blush that may be staining his cheeks. His glare proves ineffective, though, when Tom snickers loudly next to him and says, “Hah. That was a sexual tension joke. Because of all the… sexual tension.”

“ _Thank you, Thomas;_ that was enlightening.”

“Ooh,” Tom says, looking at Hunter with his eyes wide open, “he called me _Thomas._ That’s _bad._ ”

Hunter is too busy laughing to say anything, though, so Sebastian just forces the group to keep walking, happy to ignore both Kurt’s protest and any other innuendo coming from the other two.

           

* * *

 

When they arrive home, they drop a nearly asleep Tom on the couch, cover him with a thick blanket, and leave him there to sleep it off.

“I should have gone back to the hotel,” Kurt says once again, his eyes moving involuntarily towards the two already occupied rooms in the apartment.

“You know what?” Sebastian starts, “I think I’m going down to the café and let Ginette go home early. I’m too wired to sleep.”

It’s true, too. Sebastian’s mind is reeling a little, as if filled with noise. Sleep is definitely the last thing on his mind right now, and a quiet late night shift at the café accompanied by a cigarette in the cold sounds like the thing to do.

“You don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, reaching out towards him, his still gloved fingers touching the inside of Sebastian’s wrist. “I can just–”

Sebastian doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t want to know if Kurt’s going to say _I can just go back to the hotel_ or _I can just share your bed._ He doesn’t know which option is more terrifying, to be honest.

“It’s ok, really,” Sebastian says, smiling a little. He turns his hand around, moves it until the tips of his fingers are touching Kurt’s. “You’ll like my room,” he says, pointedly ignoring Hunter wiggling his eyebrows at him. “Borrow some clothes if you want. Hunter can probably tell you where they are,” he says, clarifying after a beat, “I don’t understand his system.”

Hunter stops his wiggling to huff indignantly. “My system is perfect,” he says, “Everything is color coded.”

Sebastian sees Kurt smile at Hunter and nod, as if approving, and says, “I don’t see how that’s any better than _my_ system.”

“Bas, putting your clothes on a chair until they topple over is not actually a system.”

“Hunter has a point,” Kurt says.

“I knew introducing you two was not a good idea,” he says, even when something warm spreads over him when Hunter and Kurt smile softly at each other. “Anyway, I’ll be downstairs. Please make sure Tom doesn’t die in his sleep.”

Sebastian goes downstairs hastily, not even taking his coat off and choosing to do so at the café, just so the other two don’t utter another protest. There are no customers in sight, so there’s only Ginette softly caressing Mr. Puss, who is sleeping contentedly on the counter. He tells her to go home, and she takes the opportunity without question, quickly pulling her coat on in the beginnings of a hasty escape.

“I don’t know what’s up with you, ‘Bastian,” she says on her way out, “but I like it.”

Sebastian just smiles a little at her, feels his eyes crinkle in a weird state of happiness that the wine is only half responsible for.

“I think I’m just… happy,” Sebastian says, surprised that the concept seems like something completely foreign to him.

Ginette laughs a little, small, and goes back a few steps just so she can stand on her tiptoes and press a soft kiss to Sebastian’s cheek. “I think you’re in love,” she whispers.

When she leaves, letting the cold night air inside the café, Sebastian hasn’t said a word, and he’s still smiling.

There is nothing to do in the empty café, but Sebastian still feels a little tipsy, so he steps outside and smokes a cigarette in the cold January air. It’s dark and quiet outside, but his mind still feels full of noise. He thinks it may have something to do with Kurt, with everything they talked about tonight. Sebastian’s never been the nostalgic type when it comes to relationships, and taking a stroll down memory lane for Kurt has been weird in a way, but also liberating.

He thinks of Gerard, the only man he had ever truly loved, what feels like ages ago. It had been a good fit for him, he guesses, a mature, intelligent professor to deal with his restlessness and focus it on something productive. Gerard had pushed him into writing as much as he had mocked his style, his childishness, his inherent cockiness. His mother had despised him, had kept telling Sebastian that there was nothing but condescendence in Gerard’s tone. And maybe it had been true, but Sebastian had loved him. It’s strange thinking about him now, when he can’t find in Gerard any of the warmth Kurt has.

Still, Kurt pushes, too.

Sebastian finishes his cigarette silently, and goes back inside the café. It’s warm and comfortable, cozy in a way that speaks of family. It’s not enough. It’s heartbreaking to think that, but Sebastian knows that it’s the truth.

Sebastian gnaws at his lip, unsure, and then, as if in a frenzy, grabs one of the napkins that has the café’s name on it, clicks his pen alive, and writes down _Hunter’s basically the only friend I’ve ever had._ It doesn’t sound as perfect now as it had a few hours ago with a mind full of wine, so he changes it for _Hunter Clarington was the only friend I ever had._ It sounds like a beginning.

He looks at his loopy handwriting for a minute, and then pins the napkin on the wall, right next to the few pictures he put there at some point or another. He looks at it, and laughs softly. It’s not perfect, and it could mean nothing at all, but it feels like a triumph, a few words that could be the beginning of something larger, of a story he could tell. He has the feeling it would be a too personal story, the kind he’s been running away from since mom died just because they are still too painful to write about.

Sebastian thinks of Kurt. He thinks of him saying that it’s not silly to miss his mom, and thinks that maybe it’s not silly to be afraid of pouring too personal words on a paper. So maybe he has something here. Maybe those few words on that napkin are the beginning of a story about himself, his mom, Hunter, and everything else in between. Maybe, he thinks, maybe those words are the beginning of a story about Kurt.

            

* * *

 

It’s a quiet night, but when Paulette shows up for her morning shift, she takes one look at Sebastian’s tired face and sends him upstairs with a stern look and a clear order to get some sleep. He complies, pressing a kiss to her temple before trudging upstairs, his steps heavy.

He throws his coat on a nearby chair, even if he knows he’ll be risking Hunter’s wrath, and sits against the back of the couch, seeing as Tom is still snoring on it. The soft morning light is hitting him right on the face, but he’s oblivious to the world. Sebastian sags a little, tired, and rubs his eyes with his hands. When he moves them away, he finds Kurt there.

Kurt’s wearing Sebastian’s clothes, a pair of simple grey sweatpants and a faded Mickey Mouse t-shirt Sebastian can’t bear to part with. Something jumps inside Sebastian, and he doesn’t know if it’s his stomach going to his throat or his heart trying to break away from his ribcage.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soft.

“Hi,” Kurt counters, just as softly. He’s standing not two steps away from Sebastian, carding his hand through his messy hair, and he looks sleepy.

Sebastian coughs, smiles just a bit. “Where’s Hunt?”

“He went running. He said it calms him.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

That’s all he says, not really wanting to get into the fact that Hunter’s running is always a sign of his distress. He thinks Kurt may have been right last night when he said he needs to talk to Hunter, but he’s too tired to think about that particular complicated relationship right now.

He’s not too tired to look at Kurt, though. Kurt, who’s standing there wearing his clothes, who has just slept on his bed, who looks sleepy and warm, and who is teasing him with the possibility of this being a familiar view. He wonders if it would always be as easy as this, a rumpled and sleepy Kurt waking up next to him. He thinks it could, in a way, and it’s almost too much to bear.

He thinks they’re doomed. They’re unstable and they don’t know what to do with their lives and Sebastian can hardly ask Kurt to leave everything behind and move to Paris for something that may not work. It doesn’t matter how wonderful he thinks they could be, or what seeing Kurt in his apartment wearing his clothes is doing to him. At the end of the day, Sebastian needs to let go.

“Sebastian, you’re staring,” Kurt says, soft. He’s close, so close, at arm’s reach, and Sebastian doesn’t have enough arguments to make him step away, or to bring him closer. “You stare a lot.”

Sebastian smiles, looks at Kurt’s impossibly blue eyes. “I know,” he says. “You’re wearing my Mickey Mouse t-shirt.”

Kurt smiles, too, tugs at the hem of the t-shirt. “I like it.”

“I like it, too.”

Sebastian isn’t prepared for Kurt stepping closer, easily moving between his parted legs and pressing his chest to Sebastian’s. He’s been so worried about what to do, that not once has he considered Kurt moving of his own accord, and the sudden closeness of his eyes is startling. With Sebastian resting against the back of the couch, they’re pretty much the same height, and if Sebastian moves the smallest bit, they’re going to be kissing. They don’t, not yet, but Kurt moves his hands up, presses them warm and sure on Sebastian’s cheeks, framing his face.

“Stop staring already, Sebastian,” Kurt murmurs, and Sebastian doesn’t have time to contemplate the lovely sound on his name on Kurt’s tongue before they’re kissing.

Kurt’s lips are soft and warm, and they part easily under Sebastian’s. They kiss slow and sweet, Sebastian’s hands finding purchase on Kurt’s back, right under the faded t-shirt where Kurt’s skin is warm from sleep. It’s almost familiar, even if Sebastian feels hazy, almost dizzy with Kurt filling all of his senses.

They break apart, and then they kiss again, harder and deeper and pressing as close together as they can, their arms around each other and Kurt pushing up on his tiptoes when Sebastian moves from his place on the couch. Sebastian wonders, briefly, when he started being so afraid of everything that he almost missed this. He thanks Kurt silently for his pushiness, and wraps his arms tight around him, not willing to let go.

They make their way to the bed on unsteady feet, laughing against each other’s lips when they nearly crash against a small table. When they drop down on it, limbs everywhere, they’re still attached at the mouth, lips fervent but soft. It’s Kurt who breaks away first, and he seems to do so only so he can look down and into Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian just looks back, his gaze unwavering even when Kurt trails his hands up Sebastian’s arms, pushing them above his head and tangling their hands together.

“Hi,” Kurt whispers, so soft that if Sebastian wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard him.

“Hey,” Sebastian replies, mimicking their earlier hellos.

Kurt keeps just looking, and Sebastian thinks that if he could travel back in time he’d go and slap himself for doubting this so much. No matter what the future holds, there’s no excuse for not having Kurt as close as he can for as long as he can.

Kurt starts gnawing at his lower lip, and Sebastian reaches up and kisses him, brings his tortured lip out of the hold of Kurt’s teeth with his tongue. “You ok?” he wonders.

“Yeah,” Kurt answers, breathy and with a smile. “I just think my inner seventeen year old is freaking out a little.”

Sebastian laughs, and can’t help but smirk when he says, “I think my inner seventeen year old is cackling with smug delight.”

Kurt huffs, and lets one hand escape their tangle of fingers just so he can hit Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian laughs yet again, and stops only when Kurt kisses him again. They kiss, and then they kiss some more, and Sebastian feels Kurt hard against him, gets hard himself. He’s not in a hurry to do anything about it, though, content to just explore Kurt’s mouth and give into his own tiredness between his arms.

Sebastian does let his hands wander, though, pressing them to the small of Kurt’s back and moving them down until they’re resting on the curve on his ass. Kurt’s hands are busy too, his smart fingers moving under Sebastian’s shirt in slow patterns. They move easily together, slow as molasses, tangled in a way that feels as natural as the rest of their relationship so far has. There’s an easiness to them that Sebastian doesn’t remember feeling with anyone before, and no matter how tired he feels, he doesn’t want to stop kissing just yet.

They do stop, though, but only when Hunter barges into the room wondering, “Hey, Kurt, want some break–oh, my God!” he exclaims, and Sebastian looks up to see him covering his eyes with one arm and waving the other one in front of him. “Please say no one’s naked.”

Sebastian has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Still, he says, “Sorry to say, Hunt, but everyone’s naked. Really, _really_ na–”

“Okay! I’m going. I’m leaving to… I’m just going to be somewhere else.”

Hunter closes the door sharply on them, and when Sebastian laughs, Kurt pinches his side viciously.

“Ow! Hey!” he whines.

“That was mean,” Kurt says.

“Hey, who knows? Maybe someone _will_ be naked soon,” Sebastian says, stopping in the middle of the sentence when he’s overcome by an unstoppable yawn. God, he’s tired.

“That was so sexy,” Kurt dead-pans. “Honest, yawning is a total turn on for me,” he continues, a mischievous smile crossing his features.

“Shut up,” Sebastian counters. “I didn’t get any sleep.”

Kurt’s voice goes softer when he replies, “I know. You should.”

“Don’t go.”

Kurt doesn’t go, instead kissing him yet again, his lips wet and slow, and his arms wrapping around Sebastian so he’s lying on top of him, as if trying to coax him to sleep. He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but he feels Kurt murmur _sleep, Sebastian_ after pressing a last long kiss to his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

Sebastian wakes up to a warm, if empty, bed. It’s late afternoon, and the light that comes from the window is already dying, so he guesses Kurt must have left for work, and he curses the stupid play with all of his might. When he stands up, though, stretching his arms above his head, he does it with a smile. He closes his eyes, thinks of the line of Kurt’s neck, of the shape of his thighs, of the taste of his lips.

Once he’s had enough daydreaming that he’s starting to feel like the heroine of a romantic novel, he steps into his living room to find Tom anxiously drinking a glass of water, his hair a mess and his clothes rumpled beyond recognition.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says.

Tom flinches, and rasps, “Worst hangover ever, Seb. Never again.”

Sebastian chuckles just a little, and leaves Tom to fight his misery in order to get a cup of coffee. Once he has a nice cup of the warm drink, he leans back against the counter and closes his eyes, and it is only a proof of his state of contentment that it takes him almost a full minute to realize that Tom should be downstairs, working.

“Tom, who’s at the café?” he asks, mildly panicky while walking back into the living room.

“Your friend Hunter. He offered,” Tom says, shrugging his big shoulders. “Guy’s a lifesaver, really. And pretty. Think he’ll let me paint him?”

Sebastian sighs, looking up as if exasperated. “You’re a troubled individual, Tom.”

“I just like pretty things,” Tom tells him, smiling a bit. “Hunter said you hooked up with Kurt,” he continues, “Can I paint _that?_ ”

Sebastian doesn’t even bother with an answer, letting Tom and his hangover alone so he can pull on some clothes and head downstairs.

The café is busy at this time of the day, but everybody seems to be served and happy. Sebastian catches sight of Hunter behind the counter, wearing one of the café’s aprons and maniacally cleaning a cup. He watches for a minute, looks at the small twitch of Hunter’s busy hands, and then goes to him.

When he sees Sebastian, Hunter looks up briefly, smiles a little awkwardly and then goes back to his cleaning.

“Hi,” Hunter says, “hope it’s ok I let Tom get some rest.”

Sebastian nods, smiles tightly and says, “Sure, of course, no problem.”

Hunter hums, a non-committal small sound, and when he seems to be happy with the cup he’s holding, he puts it back in its place. He stops just for a second before he’s reaching out for Mr. Puss, who is sleeping on the counter, and pushing one hand into his fur. He caresses him softly, one, two, three times, and then grabs a new cup and starts cleaning again.

Sebastian follows the movement of Hunter’s hands with his eyes, listens to Hunter matching his breathing to the rhythm of his cleaning. Sebastian bites his lip, not knowing what to do. He’s seen Hunter at his worst, and he’s never known exactly how to deal with his anxiousness, has always felt inadequate when it comes to helping him.

Sebastian is stopped from wondering farther about Hunter’s hands when he sees a customer ask for attention. Hunter looks up, mildly panicked, and then back down at what he must feel is an unclean cup.

“Don’t worry,” Sebastian says, “I’ll get that.”

Sebastian dons an apron and gets to work, his body falling easily into the routine that’s running the café. He lets Hunter continue his pattern, looking at him from the corner of his eyes and wishing there was something he could do. He’s afraid of doing to wrong thing, honestly, but he’s also pretty sure he should at least ask about the cause of Hunter’s distress.

He waits until the café is fairly empty. Most of the remaining costumers are holding empty cups and plates already, and are simply prolonging their chats in the warmth of the café. Sebastian turns to Hunter, notices that he’s started cleaning the same set of cups all over again.

He wonders for a second if he should beat around the bush, be a little casual about this, but at the end of the day, he knows he’s always been better at being blunt, so he asks, “Hunt, what’s the problem?”

Hunter just shrugs, as if casually dismissing the subject. Except that, of course, there’s nothing casual about his body language.

“Hunt, come on.”

Hunter doesn’t look at him when he says, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, tough, because you kind of have to.”

Hunter snorts, says, “Since when are you the talking kind?”

Sebastian flinches at the remark, feels physically rebuked. He knows Hunter can be nasty when he’s like this, and he probably shouldn’t take it that seriously, but it hurts anyway. They haven’t talked seriously since Hunter’s arrival, and he doesn’t want a repeat of the fight they had years ago. They both have a temper, though, and Sebastian knows that if he doesn’t stop and breathe, he’s going to say something stupid and offensive.

After a deep breath, Sebastian gathers his wits and instead of saying anything else, he chooses to press his hands against Hunter’s, effectively stopping their movement. He feels Hunter’s long fingers twitch under his, wonders if he should let them free.

“Please let me go,” Hunter says, small and fast, and when he looks up at Sebastian, his eyes are pleading.

Sebastian doesn’t let go, mouths, “Hunt, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Hunter exclaims, his tone dangerously broken. He wrenches his hands away from Sebastian’s grip, sending the cup they were holding to the floor. It’s shatters there, the crash loud in the near silence of the café.

They both look at it, the broken pieces on the floor, and Sebastian is the first to break the standstill. He moves forward and crouches, starting to pick up the biggest pieces. “Yes, of course,” he says, and he can’t help but sneer, “let’s break things, that’s way healthier.”

“I can’t be here,” Hunter mumbles.

Sebastian looks up at him, sees the way Hunter’s hands are smoothing his apron manically. “Where are you going to go, Hunt? You don’t have any other friends to run to.” It takes Sebastian longer than it should to realize how mean he sounds, how mocking his tone feels. He doesn’t want to piss Hunter off, doesn’t want him to run away, but he also doesn’t know how to handle this and he reverts to his worst self without meaning to.

Hunter doesn’t do anything for a while, just letting his hands keep smoothing the apron, over and over again. When he finally reacts, though, his face twists angrily, and he bites his lower lip, hard.

“Hunt–” Sebastian begins, stopping when Hunter moves lighting fast, grabbing another cup and throwing it to the floor. It breaks over the pieces of the first one that are still of the floor, near Sebastian’s hands. Sebastian looks at it, dumbfounded.

“Fuck you, Sebastian,” Hunter says, slow and calm, right before scooping up Mr. Puss and walking away from the café, the apron still firmly tied to his waist. Sebastian doesn’t even have time to yell after him.

When Sebastian moves up from behind the counter, the few people still in the café are looking his way, clearly startled by the sound of the breaking cups. He smiles apologetically and shrugs, as if it had been an accident instead of him being too stupid to understand his only friend.

He sighs, covers his face with his hand for a minute before rolling his shoulders back and searching for a broom to clean up the mess.

 

* * *

 

By the time Kurt shows up the café, Sebastian has gone through what he’s pretty sure is his whole range of emotions. From sad to angered, going through hopeful and resolute, he has no idea where he stands in reference to what just went down with Hunter. Mostly, he just wants to fix it, and he hates that he doesn’t know _how._

It must show, too, since both Paulette and Ginette had taken one look at him and had sat him at one of the tables and given him pie, as if that could fix everything. Even Tom had decided to stick around and help, no matter that his shift is over and his hangover is not completely cured.

There’s still half a pie left on his plate when Kurt walks to him, cheeks pink from the cold and smile a little insecure. Sebastian feels relief flooding him the moment he lays eyes on Kurt, and dear _God,_ he’s stupidly gone for him. He reaches out for him, arms stretched and fingers waving, and Kurt goes to him with no hesitation. Sebastian’s sitting down, so he wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist and buries his face in his stomach, breathing in the lingering smell of fabric softener on Kurt’s coat. When Kurt cards his still gloved fingers through his hair, Sebastian relaxes completely. This is easy, _so_ easy, that Sebastian can’t even think about letting go.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Kurt says above him, his fingers massaging Sebastian’s scalp softly.

Sebastian doesn’t really know what to say, not being used to looking for comfort in other people. At the end of the day, though, he’s pretty much spilled all his thoughts to Kurt, so it can’t hurt to let go completely.

Sebastian moves his head so it’s his chin resting on Kurt’s stomach, and looks up at his eyes. “I had a fight with Hunter,” he says after a long exhalation, “or something,” he clarifies. “I’m not sure what happened exactly, but I think I screwed up somehow.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a while, simply keeping his hands on Sebastian’s hair in some kind of silent reassurance. He does move finally, but it’s only to take off his coat and gloves and sit down next to Sebastian. He reaches out, finds Sebastian’s hand and tangles their fingers together. Sebastian looks at their joined hands, and smiles softly. Kurt says nothing, though, and Sebastian guesses that he’s giving him the time and space he needs to talk.

“He left,” Sebastian says, “Took the cat and everything, so maybe he’s not coming back.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Sebastian,” Kurt counters almost immediately.

“Jesus,” Sebastian says, a small whine entering his tone, “Aren’t you supposed to be reassuring here, princess? ‘Cause you kind of suck at it.”

Kurt smiles, just a bit amused. “Sorry, I meant to say, of course Hunter’s coming back.” After a beat, “So don’t be an idiot.”

Sebastian groans, letting his head fall down to the table. The surface of it is cold, and Sebastian is thankful for the temperature against his heated his skin.

“Hey, come on,” Kurt prods, pulling from their joined hands until Sebastian looks up again. When he does, Kurt squeezes his hand, his eyes searching his face for something Sebastian can’t guess at. Whatever it is, though, it makes Kurt murmur, “Come here.”

Sebastian goes, unable to deny Kurt anything at this point. He leans closer and so does Kurt, and they meet in the middle, soft, slightly parted lips coming together. Sebastian breathes into the kiss, fights the urge to deepen it, and feels Kurt smile against his lips. It’s nice. It’s wonderful, honestly, and Sebastian pulls away with the beginnings of a smile.

Kurt is flushing when they move apart, and his eyes are darting around him, as if afraid someone is going to say something about two guys kissing in public. Sebastian has been gay in Ohio, too, and he knows that old habits die hard. Just to erase Kurt’s doubts, Sebastian pulls him in again, kisses him firmly, stays when Kurt cups one hand around his cheek.

Kurt’s smile is big and bright after that, and Sebastian curses himself for being a complete oblivious idiot here. Of course Kurt came here today doubting whatever it is that’s going on between them, and of course Sebastian welcomed him with a sour expression and his words full of whining. In his defense, it’s not exactly his fault that he’s started to become strangely co-dependant of Kurt, to the point where he’s the one that gets to cure all his woes.

“I’m terrible at human interaction,” Sebastian says after a while. “Why am I even allowed near people?”

“Well,” Kurt says, putting a finger to his chin as if deep in thought, “You _are_ pretty to look at.”

Despite himself, Sebastian smiles. “I knew you only wanted me for my hot body.”

They both chuckle, but it’s half-heartened. Sebastian’s still a little stuck on Hunter, and he hates himself a little for being so emotionally stunted that he never knows how to handle hard situations. Still, when Kurt squeezes his hand again, Sebastian offers him his uneaten half pie, and the brightness of his eyes brings a smile to his lips.

He lets his thoughts wander, tries to forget about his troubles by looking at the long line of Kurt’s neck, at the little skin from his shoulder he sees whenever his sweater falls to the side. Kurt’s cheeks are flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he must be able to tell that Sebastian is staring yet again. It’s different now, though, knowing that he can touch, and Sebastian keeps teetering on the line of watching and waiting, or touching as much as he can as fast as he can.

“You have the dirtiest look on your eyes right now,” Kurt informs him, looking down at his already empty plate.

Sebastian smirks, realizing that he hasn’t been nearly bold enough at stating his desires. He’s always been blunt about what he wants, and maybe he needs to inform Kurt of that now, if only to erase the back and forth thoughts he’s been having all along.

He moves forward, presses his nose to Kurt’s temple so he can speak right into his ear, and places his hand, fingers spread wide, against his jaw and neck, so he won’t escape. “I want you so bad, Kurt, you have no idea,” he says. “I jerked off thinking of your neck and your shoulders, and the idea that you might let me see more, maybe everything, is driving me wild.”

Kurt turns his head to look at him, and he’s close, _so close,_ breathing a little unsteadily and blushing prettily when he says, “That’s… okay. Yeah. Definitely.” He moves closer, presses his lips to Sebastian’s hard and a little dirty. Sebastian moves his hands to cup Kurt’s face, presses his thumbs to the apples of his cheeks, feeling his toes curl.

They come up for air quickly, mindful of the people around them, but the sight of Kurt’s blown pupils is enough to fill Sebastian’s mind with a lot of ideas. Ideas of the dirty kind, and dear _God,_ Kurt makes him want to write smut _just_ about his eyes and his breathing.

They settle down, though, choosing to stay for a while longer at the quiet café, content to just play footsie under the table. It’s almost like they’re teenagers falling in love, and Sebastian can’t say he minds the feeling of excitement and wonder, the nervousness filling his body when he thinks simply about kissing Kurt some more.

In the end, their whispered conversation turns back to Hunter, and Sebastian realizes that he’s regaling Kurt with stories of his days back at Dalton and how he met Hunter. They feel like snippets of a story he’s going to write some day, and they only make him want to fix his friendship with Hunter even more, if only because he hates the nostalgic tone in his voice.

“… and his stupid cat ate my bird!” he’s saying, some time later. “I took care of that bird for a whole year, Kurt, and the moment I left him in Hunt’s care, the cat _ate him._ ”

“Poor Pavarotti the Fourteenth,” Kurt says, a small pout between his lips.

Sebastian frowns, fight to urge to kiss Kurt’s pout just so he can ask, “Didn’t you kill the previous Pavarotti?”

“He had a _stroke,_ ok?” Kurt bristles. “I sang a song for him and had a funeral and everything. I was very sad.”

“Bird murderers, both of you.”

Kurt hits his shoulder when Sebastian is in the middle of being overly dramatic, and they both chuckle softly. Sebastian already feels more at ease, and his determination to make things right feels more settled into his being. He realizes, yet again, that he seems to be constantly afraid of everything, and he hates the feeling. He remembers being a brazen, bold and stupid teenager, and he needs to remove the stupidity from that equation and get some of his fearlessness back.

The time to do it seems to be the moment the thought comes to him, since it’s the moment Kurt pokes him and makes him look outside. Hunter is there, standing by the door as if waiting for something, the cat between his arms and his shoulders hunched.

“Don’t say anything stupid,” Kurt tells him when he’s already standing up and getting ready to walk outside.

“Your faith in me is astounding, princess.”

Kurt smiles up at him, wiggles his fingers at him in much the same fashion Sebastian did early this afternoon. Sebastian goes to him, presses a lingering kiss to his lips.

“You’ll be fine,” Kurt assures him this time. Sebastian thanks him silently for the reassurance with one last kiss, and then walks towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Work's been kicking my ass lately, and with a bunch of people taking their vacation now there's _a lot_ to do.


	9. Chapter 9

Sebastian has always thought that the street outside the café looks like something out of an old, European movie. The streetlamps cast a low, yellow glow over the grey and brown colors of the ground and the buildings of the too-narrow passage, and he thinks that it wouldn’t be out of place if a sad quartet started playing something melancholic.

It’s very cold tonight, and the moment Sebastian steps outside, he hugs his own arms, his fingers twisting on the thin fabric of his sweater. Hunter doesn’t have a coat on, either, and he looks half frozen to death, hugging Mr. Puss to his chest like a living, fluffy scarf.

“Hi,” Hunter says, looking straight in front of him, as if looking at Sebastian is too much to handle.

“Hey,” Sebastian counters immediately, no thought behind it.

Then, they stay quiet. If this were indeed a movie, Sebastian would more than appreciate the bucolic feeling of the silence. As it is, he’s simply uncomfortable because apparently he doesn’t know how to have a proper conversation anymore. He breathes in, noisily, and mulls over how to go about this, only for Hunter to start talking before he can get a word out.

“I’m sorry I broke your cups,” he says, and this time he does look at Sebastian, just a brief glimpse before he goes back to staring at the wall.

Sebastian snickers, because _honestly._

“Fuck the cups, Hunt, what the hell’s going on with you?”

Hunter shrugs, a small little gesture of his shoulders that nearly manages to set Sebastian off again. He’s trying here, but if Hunter won’t talk to him, he has no idea what he’s supposed to do other than stay here and freeze his ass off. He turns a little on the spot and pats his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. He lights one up, looks at the orange tip and the way it seems to illuminate the street almost eerily.

“That’s really bad for you, you know?” Hunter intones, low and tired.

Sebastian knows the smoke bothers him to unnatural levels, and feels the childish urge to blow it on his face. He catches himself in time, and simply murmurs _seriously, Hunt?_ to himself. Still, he throws the nearly complete cigarette to the floor and steps on it, effectively extinguishing it. There’s more silence then, and it feels heavy on Sebastian’s shoulders. They’d always been the type to share comfortable silences, and this feels awkward and unpleasant.

Minutes stretch by between them, and Sebastian is the first one to snap.

“Hunter, I’m _trying_ here, ok?” he says, looking right at Hunter and stretching his arms at his sides, exasperated. “I know I’m not exactly the best conversationalist in the world, and that I manage to say the wrong thing every single time, but you being sullen and quiet is not making things easier here.”

Hunter scoffs, and for a second, Sebastian thinks that he’s gotten somewhere. Hunter doesn’t say anything else, though, instead sliding to the ground until he’s sitting down, his knees up and his back against the wall. He’s wearing expensive designer pants, and Sebastian thinks that maybe this would be easier if he got Kurt out here to yell at him for staining such nice clothes. He’s musing on the idea when Hunter finally speaks, his voice barely above a murmur and his hand clutching Mr. Puss’ fur.

“I talked to my father,” he says. “He thinks I should stop being stupid and go back home. He wants me to live with him and mom for a while, says that I need help.”

Sebastian snorts. “Do you?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in the best shape here.” It comes out sarcastic, and Sebastian’s glad, because sarcasm is always a step in the right direction.

“You’re never in the best shape.”

“Gee, thanks, Bas.”

Sebastian smiles, can’t help himself, and lowers his eyes to the ground so he can look better at Hunter’s profile. He puts both his hands inside his pockets, having almost forgotten the cold outside. He kicks at the ground, sullen, and asks, “Do you _want_ to go back home, Hunt?”

Hunter shrugs, says, “Seems like the thing to do.”

“Yes, but do you _want to_?”

“That’s not even… I don’t _know_ , ok?” Hunter says, frustrated, as his hands fly to his hair and grip tight, as if he has to keep trying to still them. “Everything was a mess back home and I ran away, and this honestly seemed like the place to go, but I’m an out of control mess anyway.” He stops, breathes out, and then whispers, “You don’t even want me here.”

“Hunt, of course I want you here!”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not just–ugh, you’re so frustratingly unbelievable,” Sebastian says, looking up as if the sky may have an answer for them. It doesn’t, though, so Sebastian does the only thing he can do. He passes his hands over his face, exasperated, and then drops down to the ground and sits next to Hunter, pressing their shoulders together. He breathes out, and says, “I missed you, alright?”

Hunter looks at him, blinks slowly, as if the notion of Sebastian missing him is absurd, or completely foreign.

“I did,” Sebastian confirms, his voice low. “I missed talking to you, and your absurd cleaning habits, and how you drag me to every Bond movie because you have this weird obsession with them, all of it. I even missed your stupid cat that hates me.”

Hunter doesn’t say anything for a bit, and then, “Mr. Puss doesn’t hate you.”

Sebastian snorts, says, “Yeah, ok.”

The silence that follows isn’t as heavy anymore, feels more like a pause than a full stop, and Sebastian breathes in slowly. He’s cold, too cold, and he thinks sitting on the ground outside in the middle of winter is probably the worst idea they’ve ever had, but for now it feels almost adequate. It feels like they need to earn their way back inside the warmth of the café, somehow, and like they haven’t yet.

“I’m not–” Hunter says after a while, “I’m not okay, Sebastian.” He says it fast, but it still feels loaded, like a scary confession.

Sebastian nods, mulls the words inside his head. “And you think going back home will help?”

Hunter shrugs, looks at him full on the eyes this time. It feels like a sign of trust, and Sebastian finds himself breathing easier. He’s pretty sure Hunter hasn’t truly trusted him since the sleeping together fiasco.

“I think I should go back to therapy.”

“You can do that here,” Sebastian says, and somehow it feels like a request. There’s something inside him that’s not willing to part with Hunter, and he honestly believes that going back to his parents is the worst decision ever.

“My life is back there, though,” Hunter argues, “my family, my job, my girlfriend… Or at least whatever is left of that.”

Sebastian sighs, and softly replies with, “You quit your job and your girlfriend left you.”

“And I don’t really like my parents,” Hunter continues, nodding along. “But, you know,” he says, “it’s still my family.”

Sebastian does know, of course. He may not have the best relationship with his dad, but a part of him is still somehow hoping for the barest scrap of approval from him. He knows warmth is actually too much to ask from Smythe senior, but seeing pride in his eyes is something a small, secret part of Sebastian still craves. It’s unhealthy and hurtful, but he knows where Hunter is coming from. Still, he says:

"They always make you nervous, though.” He points at Hunter’s hands, at the way they’ve maniacally started caressing Mr. Puss’ fur at the mention of his parents. The cat’s purring, soft and steady, and the sound seems to calm Hunter, though.

“Yeah,” Hunter says on an exhale, “but what the hell am I supposed to do in Paris? I’ll end up crawling up the walls with so much free time. Or breaking stuff. Or attacking poor, unsuspecting baristas.”

Sebastian chuckles, nods slightly. “You _are_ a menace to society, Clarington. But,” he shrugs, then says, “you could, I don’t know, work at the café, or, fuck, walk around Paris. You’re in _Paris,_ Hunt, just properly inspecting the Louvre would take you months. You could learn French, or find a hobby, or–”

“If you say take pottery lessons, Smythe, I’m going to the fucking airport right now.”

Sebastian laughs this time, throws his head back and lets a grin take over. When he looks at Hunter, he’s smiling too, if a little tentatively. When he settles down, he sees that Hunter has started gnawing at his lip, and has to fight the urge to forcibly stop him.

Hunter sags a little forward, brings the cat up and closer to his chest in a bit of a protective motion. “We don’t have the best record exactly, Bas.”

Sebastian snorts. “That’s a nice way of putting it.” He stops, breathes in the cold night air through his nose and sees it turn into white fog when it goes out through his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I know we’re supposed to have this long and emotional heart to heart about what happened, but honestly, I’m just sorry, for–for everything, really. Sleeping with you when we were both vulnerable, and the amount of vitriol I threw your way after.”

Hunter nods, says, “I’m sorry, too. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to end up screwing up like that again. I mean, you act like an idiot a lot of the time, and I can’t help but point it out.”

Sebastian laughs, pushes at Hunter’s shoulder with his own. “Ditto, jerk.”

Hunter laughs a little, rests his head back against the wall and looks up. He looks tired and a bit defeated, but also relieved. “Fine, I’ll stay and learn French or whatever.” He turns his head towards Sebastian and says, “And we’ll try not to yell at each other.”

“And no breaking stuff,” Sebastian completes, nodding.

Hunter wrinkles his nose, almost in distaste. “No more sex either.”

“Hey! You say that like it was the worst experience in the world.”

Hunter smiles at him, says, “Well, it wasn’t all that memorable, honestly.”

Sebastian punches his arm, mock-offended, and mumbles, “I was grieving and drunk, it doesn’t count. I could very easily prove my sexual prowess, you know?” He leers at Hunter, even wiggles his eyebrows suggestively just for show, or maybe just to see Hunter’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“Yeah, right,” Hunter counters. “Maybe a few weeks ago, but you won’t be sleeping with anyone that’s not Kurt right now. You’re probably going to marry him and adopt a bunch of adorable babies with him or something, you know that, right?”

Sebastian smiles wistfully, but says, “Actually, he’ll probably go back home and my heart will be crushed forever, but I’ll take your fantasy for now.”

“Hey, you can ask him to stay, you know?”

Sebastian shrugs, looks forward rather than at Hunter’s dark eyes. “Hardly. I can’t just ask him to leave his life behind for some uncertain maybes.”

Sebastian sees Hunter squint his eyes through the corner of his eye, but only looks at him when he pokes him in the arm with an insistent finger. “Didn’t you just ask me exactly that?”

“Well, yes, but you’re unstable and you hate your life, so.” He shrugs, smiles when Hunter punches his arm half-heartedly.

“Idiot.”

They settle down for a minute, and Sebastian has to smile when he notices their silence is comfortable now. He feels relieved, and basks in his contentment just for a bit, because he’s freezing his ass off and he thinks they’ve earned their passage back inside.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says, standing up.

Hunter stands up, too, leaving Mr. Puss on the ground before he opens both his arms wide and says, “Come on, come here.”

Dumbly, Sebastian asks, “What?”

Hunter sighs before saying, “Just this once, and without making a precedent out of it, we’re gonna hug,” he announces. Then, he points a serious finger at Sebastian, saying, “In a manly way.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but can’t help but snicker. “Of course, in a manly way.”

Sebastian’s positively sure the way they cling to each other doesn’t actually count as manly.

            

* * *

 

It’s when they’re stepping inside the café that Hunter says, “We should sing a song together.” Then, he exclaims, “Yes! We should definitely sing!”

“Oh, God,” Sebastian counters, “no singing.”

“But, Bas, don’t you remember how good we were? The awesome times of The Warblers?”

Sebastian snorts. “My memories of that time are still traumatizing. They will haunt me forever.”

The one that laughs at that is Kurt, the smile he directs at Sebastian nothing but mocking. “Seriously, Sebastian?” he says.

Sebastian walks towards him with a pout between his lips. “They made me sing One Direction, Kurt.”

“Fine,” Hunter says, walking behind him and sitting down next to Kurt on one of the barstools, “We’ll sing something serious and boring that pleases your little snobbish heart.”

Kurt laughs, and Hunter smiles at him, and the last thing Sebastian needs in his life is for these two to gang up on him. As punishment and with a smirk, he presses both his very cold hands to the unclothed skin of Kurt’s neck.

“Oh my God, Sebastian Smythe, get your cold hands away from me!” he exclaims, batting ineffectively at him while Sebastian does his best to keep touching. And hey, Kurt’s warm and soft, so who can blame him?

“But, babe–”

“Don’t you babe me, you, ugh–” Kurt stops talking only when he manages to grasp both Sebastian’s hands, but instead of pushing him away, he manhandles him until he’s standing behind Kurt, both his arms around his waist and his hands trapped somewhere in the folds of Kurt’s soft sweater. Sebastian smiles, leans forward until he can rest his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. He noses at his neck, and smiles even wider when Kurt only half-heartedly mumbles a protest about his cold nose.

“You two are sickening,” Hunter intones.

Kurt sticks his tongue out at him, and says, “Like the whole talking and hugging in the cold street wasn’t straight out of a corny novel.”

“Excuse me,” Hunter complains, “that was nothing but a show of rugged manliness.”

“Uh, huh.”

Sebastian sort of tunes them out after that, happy to envelop Kurt between his arms and press his face into the hollow of his neck. He feels warm, and he knows there’s more than temperature to thank for the feeling. Hunter and Kurt are happily teasing each other while Ginette, Paulette and Tom tend to the customers, and Sebastian hasn’t felt more like part of a family since his mom passed away. It’s fragile, he knows, but he basks in the feeling anyway.

He looks around, at Hunter and how tentative his smile is, and at the abandoned pattern of sugar packets Kurt only stopped building when his busy hands found Sebastian’s own. He catches sight of Ginette rolling her eyes at him, of Paulette’s soft smile and of Tom’s eyes constantly moving around, as if trying to memorize every scene before him in order to sketch it later. That’s a feeling he understands, and without meaning to, he looks at the napkin he left on the wall, a few scribbled words on it. Everything might be fragile, but right now, it feels more tangible than anything Sebastian remembers feeling in years.

He squeezes Kurt between his arms, receives a squeeze to his hands in return. He looks at Kurt from his position on his shoulder, studies the torture device his sweater looks like. The thing has buckles, for God’s shakes. His boots look like something out of a sadomasochist fantasy, too, and everything about him is a contrast that’s both scary and welcoming. Sebastian wants him. _God,_ he wants him.

He comes back from his thoughts when Kurt squeezes his hand and murmurs, “You okay?”

Sebastian nods, and then moves from his spot against Kurt’s neck until he’s whispering against his ear, “I was just thinking that I’m going to need a tutorial to undress you.”

Kurt smiles, turning his head so he’s looking at Sebastian, his eyes and his lips and his everything too close and not nearly close enough at the same time. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Kurt’s lips are moist when he kisses them, and they taste of coffee and cake. They part easily under Sebastian’s, and they feel like a dirty promise. When Sebastian hears Hunter’s not entirely subtle whisper of _oh, for Christ’s shakes, just get a room already_ he thinks that yeah, they probably should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm taking forever to update lately, but everything's been a bit crazy lately. Work's been hard, and my brother, my sister-in-law and my nine month old niece have moved in with me for a while so privacy, silence and sleep are kind of an issue right now.
> 
> Any case, thanks everybody for the support. The feedback this fic has gotten has been awesome and overwhelming!


	10. Chapter 10

Next evening, Sebastian picks Kurt up at the theater after the show and has to watch him excuse himself from his cast-mates for at least five minutes before he can pry him away. They whine and moan, tell Kurt that he’s a traitor who never spends time with them anymore, and end up winking at him when he falls easily between Sebastian’s arms.

“We could have gone with them if you wanted,” Sebastian offers after, when they’re walking side by side, direction unclear.

Kurt shakes his head. “They just want the gossip; I don’t think they even like me all that much.”

“Well, you have betrayed them for a hot barista, of course they don’t like you.”

Kurt smacks his shoulder but smiles at him anyway, grasping Sebastian’s gloved hand with one of his own and swinging them with something close to childish glee. He looks happier than he did when they first saw each other what feels like ages ago, and Sebastian doesn’t want to presume that it has anything to do with him, but he still does.

When they reach the corner of the street, Kurt stops him, pulls from their joined hands and Sebastian goes to him, finds his waist with his free hand.

“What do you want to do?” Kurt asks, blinking too blue eyes up at him.

Sebastian shrugs. He hasn’t really thought about it, and he doesn’t really care. “We could go have a drink,” he offers.

Kurt hums, a soft _mmm, hmmm,_ as if considering the option, right before he moves up with a smile and dives for Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian gets with the program quickly, moaning quietly into Kurt’s lips as they part over his own. Kurt’s lips are cold, a little chapped from the wind, and still the best thing Sebastian has ever kissed. He deepens it, untangles his hand from Kurt’s so he can encase him in his arms and bring him up and closer.

The wind picks up while they’re still kissing, fast and cold in that way it has during Paris’ winters, and it makes them squeeze each other close. Kurt disentangles his hands from the grip they had on Sebastian’s hair and brings them down his neck and chest until he finds the buttons of Sebastian’s thick coat. He opens them, sneaks his arms inside and presses them around Sebastian’s waist under the coat. It’s warmer with Kurt pressed up like this to him, as if going through one layer is enough to calm the wind down.

Kurt’s hands are massaging at the small of his back when Sebastian breaks away from the kiss enough time to gasp, “Or, we could have a glass of wine a–” Kurt doesn’t let him finish, finds his lips and keeps kissing him as if he’s starved for touch.

It’s some time later when Kurt is the one to break away to muter, “You were saying?” It’s breathy, low, a murmur that feels almost like a touch against Sebastian’s skin.

“My place,” he gasps, because Kurt may have freed his mouth, but has started an onslaught against the little skin of his neck he can free from his scarf. “A glass of wine,” Sebastian mutters, “Yeah?” And okay, Kurt’s lips at the front of his throat are doing _things_ to him.

Kurt nods against his neck, his wet lips still touching softly at his skin, the hot puffs of his breath a caress all on their own. “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he breathes out.

They would have made their way back between long, hard kisses if it hadn’t started raining on them almost half along the way. Instead, they end up running, and when they walk inside the apartment they’re both nearly soaked and smelling of rainwater.

The apartment is empty, Sebastian having sent a preemptive text to Hunter to leave them the place. Hunter has taken a liking for the night shift at the café, anyway, so Sebastian doesn’t feel too guilty, even if they’re going to need to have a conversation about him working illegally in France.

It’s warm inside, so Sebastian sheds his wet coat and lights a couple of table lamps, casting a warm yellow glow inside the living-room. He smiles at Kurt before finding a couple of towels and throwing one at him after he’s removed his own coat. Sebastian dries his hair as best as he can and leaves Kurt doing the same while he goes into the kitchen in the search of a bottle of wine.

“Hey,” Kurt murmurs when he follows him into the kitchen, right before perching himself up on the counter and looking at Sebastian’s hands as they busy themselves opening the bottle.

Kurt’s hair is a bit of a mess, no matter his attempts at styling it down, and the skin of his collarbones looks humid from the rain. He’s biting his lip and his fingers are drumming a nervous beat against the counter. He looks adorable and tempting and like everything Sebastian wants.

When Sebastian opens the bottle, he pours two glasses and offers one to Kurt, their fingers brushing when they pass the glass. He leans on the counter next to Kurt, pressing his open palm to Kurt’s thigh and taking a sip of his glass.

“You know,” Kurt starts, “when you said a glass of wine, I didn’t realize there was going to be an _actual_ glass of wine.”

Sebastian smiles, chuckles slightly. “See if I ever try to seduce you properly again, princess.”

Kurt raises both his eyebrows, smiles wickedly at him. “Is that what you’re doing?” He leans down, presses a soft, lingering kiss to Sebastian’s lips. “I’m actually okay with that,” he says when he break away.

Sebastian smiles, tightens his grip on Kurt’s thigh for just a second. He guesses jumping Kurt – wet, raw-lipped, horny Kurt – the moment they had crossed the threshold would have been the obvious choice, but if age has given him anything, it’s the knowledge that there’s nothing wrong with taking a little time to get things right. He likes sex, has liked it for a long time, but he’s too far away from quick romps in stinky bathrooms to appreciate rushing when there’s no need. They have time and an empty apartment all to themselves, and just because Sebastian wants to rip Kurt’s clothes away from him with his teeth, doesn’t mean that he can’t offer a nice glass of wine first.

They’ve been silent for a while, just drinking, when Kurt laughs. Sebastian looks at him, questioning eyebrow raised, and Kurt slides an already warm hand to his cheek and murmurs, “You are a true romantic, after all, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Sebastian utters. “It’s Paris at night and it’s raining, can you blame me for wanting to wine you properly before getting naked?”

“You’re adorable.”

“Don’t insult me, princess.”

Kurt smiles, draws a small circle on his cheek with the soft pad of his finger. “You can’t fool me anymore, Sebastian Smythe, I got you figured out.”

Sebastian turns his face into Kurt’s palm, smiles into it instead of denying anything. He might not be a romantic, not truly, but he guesses he does have his moments.

“Of course, if you want to go the whole romantic cliché way,” Kurt intones after a beat, making Sebastian look up at him, “we should do the whole staying up all night talking about deep and meaningful stuff.” He sighs, looks up an away as if resigned. “Just. Talking.”

Sebastian groans, knows a tease when he’s met him, and leaves his glass of wine on the counter so he can maneuver his way between Kurt’s spread legs, pressing his forearms to his thighs and crowding him in until he can’t escape.

“Let’s skip that part,” he says, leaning closer and breathing against Kurt’s neck before pressing a wet, slow kiss to the skin above Kurt’s pulse point.

Kurt sighs, softly this time, and brings his arms around Sebastian’s neck, his fingers finding his nape and playing with the short hairs there. Sebastian breaks away from Kurt’s skin and looks up, finds his lips unexpectedly close to his own. His cheeks are flushed a light pink and his lips are parted, as if stopped before uttering a sentence.

“What?” Sebastian whispers.

Kurt looks away for a second, looks back as if unsure, as if not knowing what it is he wants to say exactly. In the end, what he says is, “You’re just so… unexpected.” He stops, swallows audibly. “My life has been such a mess lately and you’re just. Yeah. Unexpected.”

Sebastian _has_ to kiss him right then, so he does just that, moving into the small space between them and pressing their lips together. It’s hungry this time, the way they move, as if now that the intent is clear they can’t wait anymore to get on with it.

Sebastian finds the hem of Kurt’s sweater and navigates his layers until he finds the skin of his hips. He digs his fingers in, moves them slowly to Kurt’s back and presses both his palms fully into the small of it. Kurt arches into the touch, moving forward just a tiny bit to press his crotch almost fully against Sebastian’s chest.

Kurt’s hands climb to Sebastian’s still wet hair, dig inside and massage Sebastian’s scalp as he maneuvers him into the kiss as he pleases. Sebastian smiles against Kurt’s lips, because _of course_ he’s going to be bossy in bed.

“What?” Kurt mumbles, pressing small, biting kisses to his smile before trailing down his jaw and towards his neck.

"Bossy,” Sebastian says, gasping when Kurt bites him after his remark.

Sebastian trails his hands up Kurt’s back, his thumb following the path of his spine. His skin is still a little humid from the rain, but feels soft nonetheless, and it’s already starting to warm up. When he reaches Kurt’s shoulder blades, he traces the bones there blindly, a little clumsy because Kurt’s lips have reached his collarbones and that’s a whole new level of distracting.

He pulls all of Kurt’s layers in one go, relishing in the fact that no matter how many of them there are, at least they’re all easy to take off. He wonders, briefly, if Kurt has worn simple clothes for his benefit, but when he’s presented with _so much_ perfect, soft, pale skin, he kind of forgets about coherent trains of thought.

He reaches out and presses his fingers to Kurt’s stomach, trails his hands up through his chest and then to his sides, back to his shoulders. Kurt smiles, finds his lips again, and lets his deft fingers work on Sebastian’s own shirt. Once it’s undone, he looks down, as if appraising.

“Just one layer?” he wonders. “How unchallenging.”

Sebastian snorts, chooses to say nothing and instead helps Kurt take his shirt off when he starts pushing it away from his shoulders. Kurt’s fingers trail over his shoulders, up to his neck. He brings Sebastian back in for another kiss, openmouthed and dirty, his tongue licking at Sebastian’s lips before digging back inside his mouth with intent. Sebastian groans into it, arching up as he moves his hands over Kurt’s thighs, pressing and nearly scratching at the fabric of his jeans. He moves them down over Kurt’s long legs until they find the top of his knee-high boots, and then lets his fingers play with the laces.

Kurt pushes at his chest after a while, says, “Let me get down.” His voice is raw and broken, and when Sebastian steps back and looks at him, he sees red lips and big, blue dilated eyes.

Sebastian bites his lower lip, smiles and says, “Let me get rid of these first,” he taps his fingers against the edge of Kurt’s boots, and pulls from one of the laces.

“Think you can manage?” Kurt teases, leaning down to press a wet kiss to the exposed skin of his neck.

Sebastian stops paying attention to the boots with a groan. “You keep distracting me.”

Kurt smiles, looks at him. “Tough.”

“Tease,” he mumbles, stopping a minute to kiss him again just because he can.

He goes back to the boots then, and when Kurt moves back towards his neck, Sebastian clucks his tongue disapprovingly.

“You’re going to have to stay still, or we’re never getting out of here.”

Kurt gives him a little pout, but settles back against the counter anyway. “You’re no fun,” he whines.

Sebastian chuckles but goes back to the boots anyway, finding the laces and discovering that they’re not nearly as challenging as he thought at first. The boots are a thing of beauty, though, and maybe if he begs prettily enough he can get Kurt to fuck him while wearing nothing but them. He moans at the thought, and presses his heated forehead to the middle of Kurt’s chest.

“I’m having kinky thoughts about your boots.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, very obviously interested. “Care to elaborate?”

Sebastian would, except that he’s as hard as he remembers ever being and Kurt needs to be naked already.

“Later, maybe,” he says, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s breastplate as his hands move over the laces of the boots.

He seems to have a pretty good grasp of how the things work now, so he lets his lips wander over Kurt’s chest, trailing kisses to a tempting nipple before softly sucking on it. He presses the flat of his tongue to it and Kurt gasps above him, bringing both hands to his hair and cradling his head against his chest. He only lets Sebastian move when it’s clear that his goal is his other, neglected nipple.

Kurt’s slowly melting against his mouth when the boots finally fall to the floor, the thumping sound of them meeting the wooden panels seemingly sending Kurt into a frenzy. He pushes at Sebastian’s chest and slides down from the counter, almost immediately grasping Sebastian’s hips and bringing them back together. They kiss, sloppy and breathing hard now that they’re completely pressed against each other, chest to chest, their hard-ons pressing against each other’s thighs.

Sebastian nearly growls into Kurt’s mouth, moving his hands down to cup a handful of his ass. He grabs and squeezes, bringing Kurt closer in his movement. Kurt’s hands are busy themselves, one behind Sebastian’s neck, keeping him right where he wants him, and the other one sneaking its way into Sebastian’s jeans. The heel of Kurt’s hand finds the base of Sebastian’s cock and he moans, buckles forward and effectively traps Kurt’s hand between them.

“Sebastian,” Kurt mumbles, his lips fighting Sebastian’s kisses to form words. “I want you to fuck me; can we do that? Can we?”

Sebastian groans instead of giving a coherent answer, because honestly, he doubts Kurt thinks he’s going to say no. Still, Kurt speaks again, saying, “Can we _now_?”

Sebastian chuckles against his mouth, breathy and hoarse. “Impatient.”

Kurt doesn’t answer this time, and chooses instead to push him towards the bedroom. Sebastian complies easily, stepping away and grabbing at the front of Kurt’s jeans to pull him closer again.

Inside the bedroom, Sebastian makes quick work of his jeans and underwear, and watches steadily as Kurt does the same. He’s beautiful all over, smooth and pale except for the parts of his skin where Sebastian has left his mark. Kurt doesn’t let him have too much time to look, though, pressing back against him and pushing until they nearly topple over onto the bed, limbs everywhere.

They settle back properly amid small kisses and laughter, and that’s good, it’s fantastic, because he’s always been of the opinion that sex should be fun. He presses one long kiss to Kurt’s mouth, and while he starts moving his lips over the white expanse of his neck, he reaches down and between his ass cheeks, ghosts his fingers over the skin there. Kurt gasps, then moans, and opens up prettily, moving like a cat to give Sebastian access to every part of his body he chooses to touch next.

By the time Sebastian has two lubed fingers inside Kurt, Kurt’s managed to tangle their legs in a way that has their cocks bumping against each other at every move. He keeps moving too, writhing under the assault of Sebastian fingers in a way that has him thinking that he wouldn’t mind making him come _just_ with them.

Kurt’s fingers are at his hip, flexing and digging in, scratching when his breath hitches when Sebastian scissors his fingers, when he adds a third one. His eyes are half lidded but they look awake, lust present in his blue irises. Sebastian is kind of mesmerized, the pleasure cursing through his skin and making his toes curl and his mind hazy.

Kurt murmurs his name occasionally, a soft _Sebastian_ that’s nearly a breath, shaping Kurt’s lips prettily around the sound. It’s perfect in a way that few things in life are, and it strikes Sebastian, his fingers inside Kurt, the rest of his body all around him, that fantasies of possible futures or not, he’s going to marry this man. Somehow, in some undetermined future that they’re going to make possible, they’re going to get a stupid, corny happy ever after.

He doesn’t linger on the thought, instead kissing Kurt before putting on a condom and pressing Kurt back into the mattress.

He smiles at Kurt below him, murmurs, “Is this the part of the novel where I ask if you’re sure?”

Kurt smacks his chest, hard. “After you’ve got me all worked up? I’ll kill you, I swear.”

Sebastian laughs, slides inside Kurt with a smile on his lip, and sighs into the feeling of warm wetness as Kurt whispers his name yet again. Sebastian moves in slowly, circles his hips, and settles completely on top of Kurt when he props his legs on his hips, keeping him trapped against his body. His movements are limited like this, almost forced to be slow, but he’s perfectly okay with that.

“At this pace,” he murmurs, “we’re gonna be here for hours.”

Kurt hums, circles his hips in time with Sebastian’s and presses his hands to the small of his back, trying to control his rhythm. “I don’t think I can take hours,” he says. “No matter how slow we take this.”

Sebastian pushes in, hard, moans into Kurt’s neck when he arches his back and sends a spike of pleasure all the way to his toes. He probably has a point, but Sebastian keeps up a steady, hard pace anyway, driving himself deep inside Kurt. The pleasure curls his toes, makes his breath fast against Kurt’s neck, even if slow and lazy seems to be what they’re doing here.

Sebastian presses his hands to the outside of Kurt’s thighs, hitches them up higher on his hips and smiles when Kurt gasps at the new angle, writhing under him to hold onto the new position as best as he can. Sebastian is unforgiving then, fucking into him slow and hard and steady, moaning sharply when Kurt’s nails dig into the skin of his hips and his ass.

“Maybe,” Sebastian mutters, the hot puffs of his breath hitting the sweaty skin of Kurt’s neck, “maybe we can go fast in round two.”

Kurt arches under him, digs his nails in deeper. His cock is effectively trapped between their bellies, and Sebastian feels him try to rub himself steadily against the skin there. He goes to reach a hand between them, but Kurt stops him and keeps it instead, threading their fingers together as he murmurs _I’m good, I’m good._

“We’ll see,” Kurt says after a while, enough that Sebastian has almost forgotten what they’re supposed to be talking about. “I think,” Kurt continues, his voice hoarse and tired, as if he’s been screaming, his tone parted by hitching breaths. “I think for round two I’m going to climb into your lap and ride you.”

“Fuck, Kurt,” Sebastian mumbles, pressing himself deep and hard and close and staying there before picking up his pace again.

It’s hard to talk after that, moans and ragged breaths substituting words as Sebastian finds himself driving into Kurt at a faster, harder pace. Kurt’s nails have found a permanent spot on the small of Sebastian’s back already, and his legs are slipping down and away from his hips, the effort too much now that the pleasure is taking over, leaving Kurt spread-eagled and debauched under Sebastian, clinging to him like an anchor.

Sebastian grips at Kurt’s hips hard, unforgiving, keeping him still now that every movement of his hips and of his cock inside him is making him gasp continuously. Sebastian’s nearly gone, his knees weak and his abs protesting the effort, his muscles taut and his breath quick. Kurt’s cock is still bouncing between them, long and hard and leaking, and good _God_ Sebastian wants to suck him.

“Do you–” he starts, “do you need me to touch you?”

He’s close, so close, everything warm and wet feeling to the point where he feels ready to explode. Under him, Kurt looks destroyed, breathtakingly beautiful with the clear marks of all their touching on his skin, and Sebastian can’t keep up for much longer.

“No, no, I’m good,” Kurt replies, breathy. “Just don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.”  

Sebastian doesn’t, not until Kurt’s eyes open, blue and huge as his lips part in a nearly silent moan, and he feels warm ropes of come hitting his stomach. He lets go then, feels the tension of his body leave him as his orgasm hits, warm and long and perfect, Kurt’s whole body all around him.

They don’t stop moving, though, they keep trying to kiss even when all they manage is to breathe hotly against each other’s lips. They try, though, and they manage a long, slow and deep kiss as Sebastian collapses on top of Kurt, come and sweat be damned.

It’s some time after that he finally disentangles himself, mostly because Kurt grouches at him about being too heavy. He slumps next to Kurt, absentmindedly getting rid of the condom and fighting himself so he doesn’t say something stupid about how freaking _amazing_ that was.

Silence settles over them, comfortable and welcome. The room is warm and it smells of sex, Kurt is smiling contentedly next to him, seemingly focused on steadying his breaths and looking stunningly beautiful spread out and naked on Sebastian’s dark green bed sheets. It’s something out of a novel, better than anything Sebastian could ever think to write, and the spell is only broken when Kurt’s stomach grumbles loudly.

“Oh my God,” Kurt whines, and Sebastian laughs heartily next to him, leaning in and trapping Kurt’s tongue before he can stick it out at him.

They kiss, slowly and leisurely.

“Hungry?” Sebastian asks when they break apart.

“Famished.”

Sebastian gets up from the bed with a groan, and cleans himself up before walking into the kitchen. Their clothes lay rumpled on the floor and on top of the counter, but Sebastian ignores them in favor of picking up some leftover Chinese, a piece of cake, and refilling their forgotten glasses of wine.

He finds Kurt sitting on the bed, his lap half covered by the sheets, a dopey smile on his face and his hair sticking up in all kinds of directions. He looks marked all over, the shape of Sebastian’s mouth and fingers etched into his pale skin.

“Leftover Chinese, cake and wine?” he wonders. “I think I might swoon.”

Sebastian smiles, climbs into the bed while saying, “Be nice or you don’t get any.”

Kurt pouts, his lip jutting out _just so,_ and Sebastian doesn’t waste a second passing him a container of re-heated rice. They eat in silence for a second, Sebastian as hungry as Kurt himself seems to be. In between mouthfuls, though, Kurt asks:

“What’d you do with Hunter?”

“Kindly asked him to stay out of the apartment,” Sebastian answers.

Kurt lifts both eyebrows. “Presumptuous.”

“Please,” Sebastian says, snorting, “you practically undressed me out in the street, I knew you wouldn’t resist me.”

Kurt calls him an idiot, but does it while sneaking a hand over Sebastian’s thigh and squeezing, so Sebastian knows that there’s not too much heat behind it.

"Things are good with you two, yeah?” Kurt asks after, raising a shoulder as if trying to be casual.

Sebastian nods. “Better, I think,” he says. “We’ll probably screw up again eventually, though.”

Kurt’s the one to nod this time, as if agreeing wholeheartedly. “You two are kind of emotionally moronic, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Oh, I’m so not giving you cake for that.”

Kurt looks at him, and for a second there Sebastian thinks he’s about to launch himself at the cake. Instead, he ends up shrugging and taking the last sip of his wine before setting the glass on one of the bedside tables.

“You can keep the cake,” he says, reaching out and taking Sebastian’s own glass from between his fingers, “I have something else in mind.”

Sebastian starts to ask what Kurt’s talking about, but stops himself when Kurt throws the sheet covering him away and crawls his way towards Sebastian before climbing into his lap, settling his legs around his waist and effectively sitting on top of his cock. It twitches between Sebastian’s legs, definitely interested.

“I think I’m liking this train of thought,” Sebastian says, looking up seriously into Kurt’s eyes.

"Good,” Kurt answers. “Save the cake for later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so I'll be AWOL for the next couple of weeks.


	11. Chapter 11

Kurt’s moaning, low and pretty, almost a sigh. Sebastian has gotten so used to the sound already that he has to wonder how he’s gone all his life without it. He wants to make it sound louder and faster, because he’s exhausted and Kurt’s been close for the last twenty minutes, and he thinks that’s more than enough torture for now. He presses his tongue flat at the small of Kurt’s back, twists his fingers slow and sure.

"Sebastian,” Kurt whines, “you’re killing me here.”

Sebastian smiles, darts his tongue down until it’s touching his own fingers where they’re pressing inside Kurt. Kurt gasps, mouths a loud _oh_ and presses back against Sebastian’s face. Sebastian obliges, presses his fingers and his mouth until he has a steady rhythm and Kurt’s lying prone on the bed, a writhing mass of moans. It’s wonderful, seeing him like this, open and naked and gone. Kurt always keeps himself so hidden, layers upon layers of clothing all around him, that him being this free around him has Sebastian exhilarated.

Kurt comes with half a growl and half a moan, and slumps even harder on the bed, if that’s possible. Sebastian laughs, touches his hand softly to the small of his back, where his skin is bright with sweat, and lets his fingers run over it in a soft, tickling caress.

“You alive over there?” he wonders, moving up onto the bed and dropping next to Kurt, his body feeling suddenly too heavy. If they keep up this rhythm, they’re not going to survive.

Kurt groans, murmurs, “Barely.”

He moves his head so he’s facing Sebastian. His cheeks are flushed a deep red, and his hair is plastered to his forehead, wild and untamed. Sebastian smiles, moving his hand to push Kurt’s hair back, slicking it back with his own sweat.

“You’re awful,” Kurt says. “A torturer, an evil sex demon.” He’s still breathing hard, and his words are a rough whisper that almost seems to physically touch Sebastian’s skin.

Sebastian smirks, even as his hand moves to Kurt’s neck and stays there, light and soft. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Kurt tries to shrug, but the movement is small, tired. “It was ok, I guess.”

Sebastian brings his hand to his chest almost immediately, mock-offended. “Just ok!? Ok, that’s it,” he states, “no more sex for you.”

“What?” Kurt asks, lifting a single eyebrow. “You don’t get to decide that, you know? Sex is like, half the reason I like you.”

“Oh, lovely.”

Kurt laughs, a bright smile curving his lips. He moves up then, leaning on his elbow and looking still exhausted but more recovered as he moves closer to Sebastian. He leans in, kisses him on the mouth while still smiling, light and happy.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “Now bring me chocolate.”

Sebastian groans. “You’re _so_ high maintenance.”

“Like you didn’t know that already.”

 

* * *

 

They spend their afternoon cuddled close together on the soft, plush chair by the big window on Sebastian’s apartment. Kurt loves looking outside at the quiet street, and Sebastian loves that they have to tangle their limbs impossibly to fit into the chair. Kurt’s hair is close to his face, sweet smelling and soft, and it’s easy to curl his arms around Kurt’s middle and hold him like something precious.

Kurt’s been wearing softer clothes lately, sweaters and shirts that free his shoulders and let him take a peek at the thinner shirts underneath. Sebastian knows he has a tendency of reading too much into everything, but he’s seen the way Kurt makes armor out of suits and severe looking vests, the way he always protects his neck with fashionably tight scarves. Kurt’s comfortable with him, and his clothes are only a testament of how much.

“Mmm,” Kurt murmurs after a while, curling his hand around Sebastian’s on his stomach. “You love this whole creating an atmosphere thing, don’t you?”

“What thing?” Sebastian wonders. He feels sleepy, drained of all energy and impossibly content.

“The music,” Kurt starts, “the nice view, the low lights; it’s like you want to make everything into the scene of a cozy book.”

Sebastian smiles. So maybe he has a special playlist filled with soft music for whenever he sits down on this same chair to read, and maybe he’s always thought that there’s something inherently romantic to the little apartment above the café, so what?

“Have you been writing at all?” Kurt asks, turning a little bit around so he can look him in the eye. It’s like he wants to make sure Sebastian won’t lie.

Sebastian feels himself tense up, and he knows Kurt must be able to tell, with them being all over each other the way they are. “I’ve been staring at a blank page,” he says, trying for non-chalant. “It’s not easy.”

Sebastian wishes for the easiness of his teenage years, when he would write mindless strings of words without a second thought. And maybe they weren’t good, but they were the only real outlet he had when he was feeling like the world was too much to bear. Now, though, the blank page and the blinking cursor seem to taunt him. He feels inadequate, somehow, like those few words he wrote in a napkin are all he has in him, and he’s afraid Kurt’s going to be disappointed.

“It’s ok,” Kurt says, squeezing his hand. “I just wanted to know.”

“Right.”

But now Sebastian feels uncomfortable, like his insecurities have been exposed. Kurt’s presence in his life and his near constant questioning has been changing him, making him realize how much he’s been missing, how stuck in time he’s been for the past years. It doesn’t mean that Kurt can help him move past this though, much less if he’s going back to his actual life in little time.

“Hey,” Kurt says. “You’re all tense now.”

Sebastian breathes out, makes a physical effort to relax the tense line of his shoulders. “Yeah well, I’m not gonna be Shakespeare in two weeks, you know?” he says, “As a matter of fact, I could suck. What if I’m the worst writer in the world and I have you fooled thinking that I’m some kind of undiscovered talent?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt shrugs, smiling up at him and squeezing his hands yet again. “So maybe you suck, so what? Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t _try._ ”

“Really? That’s your heartfelt advice? No I believe in you, Sebastian? You’re fantastic and you deserve to go after your dreams? Also, you’re fantastic in bed, the _best_ I’ve ever had?” Sebastian says, smirking when Kurt smacks him playfully on the chest.

Kurt snorts, smiling cheekily. “Sure, sweetheart, whatever you say.”

“You wound me, deeply.”

“And you’re changing the subject.”

“I know,” Sebastian agrees, softening his lips until his smirk turns into an uncomfortable smile. He looks at Kurt, his blue, blue eyes that he never wants to disappoint, and leans in for a quick, soft kiss. “Let me get away with it?”

Kurt nods, the movement slow and small. He moves closer, looking for another kiss, right after he says, “Just this once.”

“Ok, just this once.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after Kurt’s gone, Sebastian drives their conversation away from his mind by focusing himself on the mindless job of tending to the café. It’s a slow night, but he dons an apron and swipes at the floor as if Paulette hadn’t spent the morning leaving it mirror-bright.

“So,” Tom says suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled upon them. “I sorta asked Ginette out on a date.”

Sebastian stops his mindless sweeping almost immediately to look up, and spies Hunter as he does the same. They both look at Tom, who is busying himself by grabbing his coat and scarf.

Sebastian asks, “Sorta?”

“Well, yeah,” Tom says, not looking  
at them, and _honestly_ , the kid jumps people for the opportunity of a portrait but he’s shy about this. “I mean, it’s just coffee.”

“You’re taking your coffee-shop co-worker out for _coffee?_ ,” Sebastian wonders.

“Yeah, I thought I–” he stops, looking at Sebastian mildly panicked, “oh God, I’m gonna screw this up, aren’t I?”

Sebastian smiles, amused by Tom’s huge-eyed look. “You’ll be fine,” he reassures. “Just, no drama at work.”

“No drama, right. I’m just gonna… go. And think. Maybe I should change the coffee thing?”

“You’ll be just fine,” Sebastian assures, patting Tom’s back when he’s close enough. Tom gives him a small smile and a nod, and after waving at Hunter, he leaves. Once he’s outside, both he and Hunter chuckle softly.

“He’s kind of like a baby brother to you, isn’t he?” Hunter wonders.

Sebastian looks at him, at the way he’s mindlessly cleaning the counter, the same thing he’s been doing for the past half an hour. He thinks of Tom, Ginette and Paulette, the way they are in love with the café, and the way they seem to know Sebastian even if he’s made a conscious effort to keep to himself. Not too long ago, he would have said that he didn’t care much for them, but the truth is that one way or another, they are a little family that has been part of his life in Paris for years now. A family that has seemingly adopted Hunter and Kurt easily and with open arms.

“I guess so, yeah,” he answers, finally. He shakes his head, chooses to change the subject before he’s forced to admit how much of a softie he’s turned into. “When was the last time you slept, Hunt?” he wonders.

“A few hours, this morning,” Hunter answers with a shrug.

He doesn’t say another word, but at least he’s given up on the counter, and is now playing with Mr. Puss, making him lazily stretch to get his nails into the cleaning rag.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hunter says after a second.

“I’m not looking at you.”

“Uh huh.”

Sebastian sighs, and gives up on his mindless sweeping so he can sit in one of the barstools and look pointedly at Hunter. Mr. Puss gives him _a look,_ as if trying to scare him away.

“This cat really hates me,” he states.

“No, he doesn’t,” Hunter counters. “You look at him like he’s personally offended you and he can tell, so he’s defensive.”

“But he’s personally offended me! Do you remember my couch back home? The grey one? Do you?”

Hunter looks up then, lifting his nose up haughtily in that way that’s so _Hunter_ that Sebastian has to smile. “It’s not his fault you had such a scratchable couch.”

Sebastian snorts, and then laughs wholeheartedly. Once he’s settled down, though, he looks back at Hunter, and says, “Seriously, though, Hunt. Sleep?”

Hunter shrugs, puts his hand to Mr. Puss’ fur and bites his lip. “I’m not getting many hours, no,” he confesses. “I talked to dad, though, and he gave me the number of Doctor Can’t-Pronounce-Your-Stupid-French-Name, after lecturing me for about half an hour, so yeah.”

“Good,” Sebastian says. “That’s good.” Then, he clarifies, “The doctor, not the lecture.”

“I don’t know, dude, I think he believes he can fix me with enough military discipline.”

Sebastian crinkles his nose, says, “Don’t call me _dude_.”

“Right,” Hunter answers, a smile teasing his lips, “Kurt says it’s tacky to be over twenty five and call people dude.”

Sebastian smiles too, a little wistfully. “Sounds like him.”

Sebastian sighs, resting his elbow on the counter and his face against his hand. He’s officially turned into a fifteen year old girl and he doesn’t even mind. He blinks, slow and tired, and only wakes up from his daydreaming about Kurt’s eyes when a rag hits him straight on the face.

“Stop daydreaming, it’s pathetic.”

Sebastian throws the rag back, chuckling when it lands on Hunter’s face and Hunter looks at it like its toxic.

“No, but really,” Hunter says after he’s discarded the rag and has cleaned his face and hands with fresh water. “I’ve never seen you so…” he moves his hand around in the air, like he can’t quite find the word, and then finishes with, “… enamored.”

Sebastian shrugs, smiles yet again. “The first time we were left alone he told me that I had CW hair and looked like a meerkat, and also that he didn’t like me. Of course I’m enamored.”

“In his defense,” Hunter pipes in, “I’m going to guess that you were being nasty to him.”

“That assumption wounds me deeply.” Hunter looks at him with a raised eyebrow, so Sebastian quickly concedes, saying, “Fine, maybe hitting on his boyfriend wasn’t the wisest approach.”

“When _was_ this?”

“Oh, right. Junior year, he was dating Blaine Anderson. Remember Blaine?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hunter nods, biting his lip, and Sebastian can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “He’s the boyfriend from that other school? Oh my God, Bas, was Kurt a Warbler?”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, for a while there.”

“Oh my God, he’s _one of us!_ ”

“Hunter, we’re not actually a cult, you know?”

“Shut up, I’m gonna text him. We gave to do a number now, Bas, there’s no excuse.”

“Oh my God, are you for–” But Hunter’s already texting away, and not paying much attention to Sebastian. His short run with The Warblers is still a bright point in Hunter’s life, Sebastian knows, so he doesn’t have the heart to stop him, not even if he wants to take them back to the days of harmonies and coordinated steps, or the times when Sebastian was too much of a jerk to think about anything but getting what he wanted.

It’s good to see Hunter smile, though, to see him forget the world for a second, enough that it makes Sebastian smile goofily at his antics, and forget about the world himself.

 

* * *

 

Hunter leaves him alone later that night, sleep finally forcing him into a slow trudge upstairs, cat between his arms and eyes already half closed. Sebastian, alone with his thoughts, turns into his most masochistic self and finds his laptop, opens an empty Word document, and stares patiently at the blinking cursor. It’s stupid to do this when he’s not exactly sure what it is he wants to write about, but at the same time, he’s hoping that some of his old crazy string of thoughts kind of writing comes to him. Nothing’s happening, though, and by the time he closes the laptop and starts thinking about going out for a smoke, he’s managed to drive himself half crazy.

This afternoon he’d been thinking that he doesn’t want to disappoint Kurt, but the truth is that he doesn’t want to disappoint _himself._ It was easier to go about things when he’d forgotten about half formed dreams and the idea of doing something with himself other than taking care of the café. Now, he’s constantly wondering where the hell his words have gone, and why have they deserted him.

When the laptop is closed, he puts both his hands on top of the counter, feels the cold from the material sip into his skin. He loves this place, the feeling of it, the warm lights, the smell of fresh coffee. He loves that Hunter is here now, that Kurt feels like he belongs, that his mom used to love it. The place is filled with ghosts of the dead and of the living, and he knows that those ghosts want to step into a blank page. All he needs to do is gather them, give them the shape of an honest story.

It’s hard, though, because Sebastian hasn’t been honest with himself for what feels like ages. Before Kurt appeared back in his life he’d been doing his best at ignoring the heavy feeling of his lost mom and his disappointed father, the burdening of having screwed up his one honest friendship on the world. Now, everything is at the forefront of his mind and his heart, accompanied by the constant swoop of his stomach whenever Kurt is close, and Sebastian feels jumbled, pulled in a million directions when he’d been nearly static before. It’s a little scary, a little too much, and he presses his hand to the counter hoping that the solidity of the café will give him the balance he needs. He wishes, for a second, that he could sneer at life the way he’d done when he was a stupid, blind teenager.

He breathes out hard, stops his train of thoughts. He’s happy, happier than he’s been in a long time, and he doesn’t know why he keeps fiddling with his thoughts so much. He shakes his arms, as if physically removing all of his frustrations, and turns around so he can pour himself a nice cup of coffee. He’s always loved the night shift, but there’s something disturbingly introspective about Paris’ cold nights that he doesn’t need right now.

He’s halfway done with his coffee when the doorbell chimes and Kurt steps inside the café. Sebastian wasn’t expecting him tonight, but he can’t say the sight of his flushed cheeks isn’t a welcome one.

“Wasn’t expecting you tonight,” he says.

Kurt just shrugs before taking off his coat, scarf and gloves, and leaving them all on top of one of the barstools. When he sits down in another one, Sebastian notices the way his right hands keeps tracing an invisible ring over his ring finger. Without meaning to, Sebastian counts, one, two, three, four swipes, a little pause, another four swipes.

“Ok?” he asks.

Kurt shrugs again, like he doesn’t want to talk about anything. And he probably doesn’t, they way his body language is closed off, his eyes downcast and his fingers keep twitching, unstoppable in their pattern. He’d been smiling when he left today, and now he hasn’t even made as if to touch Sebastian.

“Is this about Blaine?” Sebastian asks, looking pointedly at Kurt’s repetitive movement.

Kurt startles, looking up at him with big eyes, as if only now realizing what he’s doing. He looks at his hands, and only stops touching his ring finger when he’s finished one of his repetitions. He presses one hand to the counter, fingers spread, and Sebastian takes it as an invitation. He moves his own hand, slow but sure, watches as Kurt follows its movement, and finally interlaces their fingers. He squeezes, and Kurt’s hand settles easily inside his.

“I didn’t realize I had such a telling tick.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says. “It’s the finger for Blaine, and the nose for your dad.”

Kurt sighs, closes his eyes for a second too long, as if he can’t bear the thought of being so easily read. Sebastian can empathize with the feeling, and it makes him think of their brief meetings as teenagers, the way they had protected themselves behind harsh and blunt words, hiding their weaknesses as if afraid of vulnerability. Funny how the years have made them spill their guts to each other without a second thought.

“It’s not,” Kurt starts after a while, licking his dry lips. “It’s not as bad as Hunter’s, I don’t think. I’ve never taken pills, and the one time I saw a therapist I nearly punched him when he started mumbling stupid clichés about daddy issues and parental loss.”

Sebastian snorts, can almost picture Kurt, nose high up in the air, telling a too smart for his own good therapist to fuck off.

“But yeah,” he continues. “I have my moments.”

“Bad day?”

“I talked with everyone back home, dad and Rachel and Blaine, and I just, I’m just really tired,” he says, and his eyes look down again instead of at Sebastian. “I wanted to come give you this, though.”

He takes his hand away from Sebastian’s and instinctively he follows just a bit, feeling the loss immediately. Kurt searches his coat’s pocket for something, and when he finds it he presents it to Sebastian.

“It’s tickets, for my show,” he says, “for all of you. I thought–I don’t know, that maybe you’d like to come? I told you it’s not really good, but maybe you could close the café for a few hours, make a night out of it for everybody?”

Sebastian hates how unsure Kurt sounds tonight, like he’s been drained of all his life energy, and he has to wonder what the hell kind of conversations he has with the people back home that leave him this un-Kurt like.

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“And anyway, I had to promise Hunter that we’d go to a karaoke after some pretty weird texting.” Kurt smiles, almost amused for a second.

Sebastian smiles, too, tries to make as if everything’s alright and Kurt doesn’t look like death warmed over.

“He may be overexcited about the fact that you were a Warbler.”

Kurt smiles, just a little bigger than before, and Sebastian silently thanks Hunter for his antics. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

When Kurt says nothing else, Sebastian looks for his hand again, grasps it and squeezes. He doesn’t know what to do or what to ask. He thinks Kurt may want to talk about what’s bothering him, but he looks so tired that he doesn’t want to press some kind of serious conversation on him.

“Hey,” he says, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep? You look really tired, and Hunter’s snoring can be surprisingly soothing.”

Kurt smiles at him, his little tired eyes crinkling at the corners. “Think I don’t know that by now? I practically live here,” he stage-whispers, like it’s a secret. “You don’t mind, do you? If I get some sleep?”

For a second there, Kurt almost looks lively, so of course Sebastian doesn’t mind if the simple thought of sleeping in his bed seems to help get him out of his funk.

“No, of course not,” Sebastian says, smile coming a little easier this time. “Also, if you happen to be naked when I go join you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Perv.”

“Damn right.”

Kurt’s smile then is a sight to see. It still feels tired, almost weary in an old person kind of way, but it’s bright and big, and it lights up Kurt’s face completely. Sebastian thinks Kurt’s going to leave then, but instead Kurt surges forward, leaning over the counter in a way that has to have it digging against his stomach, and brings one hand to Sebastian’s shoulder so he can pull him closer. Sebastian goes, and when Kurt kisses him, open-mouthed and slow, he cups Kurt’s cheeks and keeps him in place. They kiss for longer than it’s comfortable with the counter between them, and it’s the kind of kiss that has Sebastian wanting to say stupid things like _I love you,_ or _never leave me,_ or _I think future me wants to marry future you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long hiatus; it's been a few crazy weeks at work. 
> 
> Thanks everybody for the comments and the lovely vacation wishes!


	12. Chapter 12

The sun is already up by the time Sebastian climbs the stairs up to his apartment, leaving Ginette behind to take care of the first customers of the morning. It’s going to be a cloudy day, though, tinted in that kind of winter grey that makes Sebastian want to curl with a book all day long. He has a long day before him, though. Hopefully, he’ll catch a few hours of sleep with Kurt before going back to work.

He feels sleepy and fuzzy, so he only manages a half-hearted wave when he sees Hunter sitting on the couch, mindlessly perusing some of his books. Hunter’s never been much of reader, not having the patience to fully finish any story that doesn’t immediately grab his attention, so Sebastian can only guess that he’s devising some complicated categorizing method that will later drive him crazy. Sebastian himself has always been a fan of piling up books in no particular order.

Once he walks into the room, he’s surprised to find Kurt awake. It’s early in the morning, and the lack of light outside has the room hidden in half-darkness. Still, Kurt, wrapped in his comforter and wearing the Mickey Mouse t-shirt he’s claimed for himself, seems to be reading. There’s some papers scattered on the bed, and Sebastian frowns, because only now does he remember that he printed some of his old stories as part of his very own masochistic quest.

“Having fun?” he wonders, his tone almost bordering on annoyed.

Kurt startles, focused as he’d been on the pages before him, and looks up with half a smile. His hands tremble a little, and Sebastian knows that it’s only because Kurt’s pulse isn’t the steadiest, but the way it makes the printed papers tremble along makes Sebastian feel as if he’s caught Kurt doing something wrong.

“Sebastian,” Kurt says, “these are really good.”

They might be, but they’re also personal, almost part of his soul. Sebastian wraps his arms around himself, feeling suddenly invaded. He’s told Kurt so much already that there’s something silly in feeling vulnerable now, but he can’t help it. The words Kurt is holding speak of Sebastian’s teenage years, of the pain of an indifferent father, of seeing his mom die. He’s positive that there’s something in there about the feelings that accosted Sebastian after David Karofsky’s suicide attempt, and maybe even about Kurt himself. There was a time in which Sebastian wrote everything down, poured himself over blank pages, and with Kurt’s eyes skimming over his words he feels broken open for the world to see.

“They’re private, too,” Sebastian snaps. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but he can’t help it.

Someone who knew him less would have probably dismissed his tone of voice, but Kurt knows him well, much more this part of him that snaps without a second thought. The moment Sebastian steps forward and tears the papers away from Kurt’s hands, he also spies Kurt’s features settled in a hard frown.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave them scattered all over the place like that, then,” Kurt states. As he does so, he starts moving, getting up off the bed and starting to pick up his discarded clothes. He looks disheveled and suddenly angry, and Sebastian doesn’t want that but he can’t shake his own feelings either.

“Well, I’m sorry the concept of privacy is so difficult for you, princess.” The venom in his voice feels out of place, sudden and hurtful, but Sebastian can’t stop himself.

Kurt huffs, though, half of his clothes already between his arms. “You know what? Stop that right there.”

“Stop _what_?”

“This!” Kurt exclaims, pointing between them. “Whatever it is you’re doing right now,” he clarifies. “You’re freaking out, and I’m sorry that you still feel like you have to hide yourself from me, but stop before you say something too hurtful.” He stops, breathes in, and then makes as if to walk through the door.

Sebastian hasn’t said enough, though. He’s unsettled, not exactly sure why Kurt reading some of his old writing has angered him so much, and he doesn’t want to let it go just yet.

“You know?” he starts. “Maybe if you weren’t so fucking _pushy_ all the time I wouldn’t have to hide anything.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Kurt intones. “Go ahead and start with the insults, why don’t you? Any comments on my clothes, or maybe my gayface?”

Sebastian snaps at that. He takes a step forward, crowds Kurt’s space, tries to tower over him with what little height advantage he has. “Hide the claws yourself and don’t get bitchy, princess.”

Kurt opens his mouth, makes as if to interrupt him, but Sebastian doesn’t allow it, and instead keeps talking.

“I’m not insulting you,” he says, “you _are_ pushy. You come here and insert yourself into my fucking life, into every nook and cranny, and then what? Then you go back to your real life carrying all my secrets with you? Excuse me for wanting to protect _something._ ”

“You honestly think that’s what I’m doing?” Kurt’s voice is soft, low, a contrast to Sebastian’s ever loudening tone.

“I don’t know!” Sebastian yells back.

“Well I don’t know either!” Kurt exclaims. “Look, I had a really terrible day, ok? I’ve had to listen to my family and my friends question me about what I’m doing, where I’m going, trying to _fix_ me because I’m lost in life or whatever. The last thing I need is for you to yell at me too.”

Sebastian doesn’t answer this time. They’re both breathing hard, and they’re so close together that Sebastian can feel the hot air leaving Kurt’s mouth on his cheek. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him and hold him and never let him go. He also wants him to leave so that he can breathe, think for a second about what exactly they’re yelling about.

Kurt is the first one to move, turning around sharply and walking towards the door.

“So what, that’s it?” Sebastian says, stopping Kurt in his tracks. “You’re going to have your drama queen exit and be done with this?”

Kurt turns sharply yet again, this time so that he can look directly at Sebastian. He moves until he’s really close, and he reaches up and wraps one fist tightly around Sebastian’s shirt.

“Shut up, Sebastian,” he says. Sebastian’s name still sounds wonderful between his rosy lips. “Just shut up, ok?”

Sebastian does. Slowly, Kurt moves away from him, unwrapping his fist from his shirt and looking down until his blue eyes are hidden from Sebastian’s view. Then, he leaves the room.

Sebastian stays still for a moment, not knowing what to do. Eventually, though, he starts moving and goes to sit back down on the bed. He grabs some of the papers still scattered around him, looking at them with a half-hearted expression and repressing a sigh. He still feels broken open, too exposed and still a little angry. He doesn’t know who he’s angry at, though, and he doesn’t know why either.

He doesn’t get more than a minute to breathe, though, because the next thing he knows Hunter is walking into his room and asking, “What the fuck did you do?”

“Why do you immediately assume that _I_ did something?”

Hunter snorts, walking into the room and sitting next to him on the bed. “Let’s face it, what are the chances that you didn’t?”

“Fuck you,” he answers, but there’s no heat behind it.

Sebastian doesn’t sigh, but he does drop down onto the bed, his back laying down on some of the printed papers. They seem rather inconsequential right now, and certainly not something to start a fight over.

Hunter follows him, dropping his back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling the same way Sebastian’s doing.

“Kurt said to knock some sense into you and to go see him tonight at his show so that you two can talk without yelling,” Hunter says after a minute.

Sebastian snorts. He should be a little wounded that Hunter is on Kurt’s side, but the most stupid part of him is still grateful that they get along so well.

“So here’s what you’re gonna do, ok?” Hunter tells him. “You’re going to tell Kurt that he should never leave you, that he’s gotten you to open up and that people like you much better when he’s around. You’re also going to tell him that you’re stupidly in love with him, and that he clearly needs someone to be stupidly in love with him because he looks a little lost and he seems happy when he’s with you. Then, you may also propose, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sebastian smiles, just a bit. He’s really tired, completely drained of energy and he needs to get some sleep before he faces anyone else today. Still, he says, “That was a nice speech.”

 

* * *

 

Later that morning, Sebastian chooses to blow off all of his appointments in favor of taking a walk. Purveyors and business partners can wait, especially when Sebastian feels off-balance and he might end up saying something that he regrets.

The day is very cloudy, but at least it isn’t raining, and the cold is almost refreshing. Covered in a thick coat, scarf and gloves Sebastian takes a mindless stroll down the city, enjoying the view of narrow streets and dark grey, old buildings. He’s always loved Paris, and he feels calm walking through the well-known paths.

Sometime around noon, he realizes he’s made his way towards the cemetery. He’s not surprised, seeing as he hasn’t been here in a while and he always chooses to come here when he’s feeling particularly unstable. He buys some flowers from the small shop on the other side of the street, and then walks inside the mourning place.

His mom had been very particular about wanting to be cremated, so Sebastian doesn’t have a big stone to visit, but only a small little box in between a bunch of small little boxes. It’s very anticlimactic, but Sebastian can do nothing but place the small bouquet of flowers before it and stand looking at the little plaque with his mom’s name on it. He hates it. He hates his mom for dying and leaving him alone, and he hates that the small closet full of her clothes back home feels like more of a homage to her than this little place inside the cemetery.

He doesn’t talk to her, has never felt the feeling of uncovering himself when he knows that she won’t be answering. Still, he stays for a long while, looking at her engraved name. It’s been a while now, and he doesn’t have much tears left, but he still cries, because Kurt was right when he said that there’s nothing wrong with missing one’s mom. He thinks, briefly, that his mom would have really liked Kurt.

He leaves with a whispered _bye, mom,_ and promises himself that he’ll come more often. He’d avoided the place altogether at first, but it’s easier now, and he hates the thought of her not having any flowers.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian sits down for a coffee a little later. He doesn’t much like the place he’s chosen, feels a bit too industrial for him, but it’ll do. He’s been carrying his laptop with him all day, and he opens it up and stares at a much hated blank page. He looks at it, determined, and then shakes his hands as if to lose the stiffness he’s being carrying around along with the laptop.

“Come on, Smythe,” he says under his breath, “it doesn’t have to be good, it just has to be something.”

Sebastian places his fingers over the keyboard, and let’s them fly. He doesn’t have a coherent story to tell, not right now, but he has so many jumbled thoughts that they all seem to want to jump into the page. He thinks of everything that’s been going on later, and let’s his words talk of the shape of Kurt’s lips, of Hunter breaking cups and arranging his clothes, of his stupid cat, of his café, the pictures on its walls and how his grandfather had started to put them up, of his mom, her dresses that still smell like her and how alive she was once. And it’s not brilliant, and it’s only for himself, but it is something.

 

* * *

 

By the time the evening rolls around, Sebastian’s feeling better. He’s gotten some sleep, he has a plan of action in which groveling is actually optional, and he’s going to go see Kurt on a stage with his closest friends. He chooses a nice suit to wear tonight and then meets everybody downstairs. They’re all wearing their nicest and smiling lightly, and there’s a special feeling going around about tonight. Maybe it’s that they’re going to close the café for one full night, maybe it’s that Hunter’s got them pumped up about karaoke later, or maybe it’s that they all want to see Kurt perform, but it feels like some kind of celebration.

“Hunter, you’re _not_ taking the cat,” is what Sebastian says the moment he spies the white coat of fur between Hunter’s arms.

Hunter raises his nose up high, and says, “Mr. Puss wants to see Kurt’s show.”

“Mr. Puss,” Sebastian stresses, “is a _cat._ ”

“Who happens to have a deep appreciation for art,” Hunter says. “He always purrs when I play classical music.”

“You’re a troubled individual, and we’re not taking the cat.”

Hunter starts to protest again, but Ginette stops it by taking the cat away from him and placing it on the floor. She fixes some milk for him, and gives Hunter such a stern stare that Hunter doesn’t dare complain.

 “ _Allez, allez!_ ” she says then. “We don’t want to be late.”

She’s the first one to leave the café, Tom trailing behind her like a puppy dog and Paulette smiling softly at their antics. He walks next to Hunter to the door, and before closing it behind him, he turns the _open 24 hours_ sign so it shows a red _closed._

 “You’re sure?” Hunter wonders as they close up, the keys jingling in their hands and the red of the sign almost too bright to bear.

It feels momentous, for sure, closing the place even if it’s just for one night. Sebastian’s never closed it before, and has even taken on too long shifts just to make sure the light was always shining inside the café. He realizes the silliness of it now, how closing the place doesn’t mean that he’s turning his back on his family, or that he won’t open it again. He also realizes that there are things more important than holding onto memories, like going to see the man he loves with the people he considers his family, like looking forward to a future that holds the café in it, but also many more things.

He realizes both him and Hunter have been standing still and looking at the closed door for a while only when Tom comes after them, throwing his arms over both of their shoulders and smiling brightly at each of them.

“Ready?” he asks.

Sebastian looks at Hunter and then at Tom, and then he smiles. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They go towards where the girls are starting to walk ahead of them, Tom’s arms still around their shoulders.

“So,” Tom wonders, “would it be awful of me to ask Ginette to let me paint her like one of my French girls?”

Sebastian snorts, and says, “Do that and I will punch you myself, Tom.”

Tom backs off almost immediately, bringing his arms down and then showing his palms in a defensive move. “Fine, fine,” he concedes, right before looking forward at Ginette’s walking figure. “She looks awesome tonight, doesn’t she?”

“That,” Sebastian begins, “That’s what you should tell her.”

Tom nods, eager as a puppy, right before running to catch up with the girls. He steps right between them, offering both his arms for them to take, and Sebastian smiles at the sight when they both do easily.

Sebastian and Hunter walk silently side by side, and Sebastian spies Hunter looking up at everything around them. He’s smiling softly, and his hands are inside his pockets, apparently still.

“This is a cool city,” Hunter says, “I’m glad I stayed.”

Sebastian nods next to him, saying, “I’m glad you did, too, although I’ll deny it if asked.”

“Asshole.” Hunter smiles when he says this, and then he continues with, “Anyway, I’ve been thinking–”

“It’s good to see you try new things.”

“Shut up, you jerk,” Hunter says immediately. “I’m trying to propose something here.”

Sebastian lifts both eyebrows almost immediately, and looks at Hunter as he wiggles them exaggeratedly.

“ _Not_ that kind of proposal, idiot,” he says. “Will you let me talk already?”

“Fine, fine, go ahead.”

“The local next to the café is empty, and I’ve sort of been making a background check of the café’s accounts,” Hunter starts, biting his lower lip nervously. “I’ve been thinking you should expand. The café’s doing well, and if you buy the place next door you can have some more tables, hire some new people or whatever.”

Sebastian sighs, and starts to say something that Hunter interrupts quickly.

“Don’t answer anything right now, ok?” he says. “I know you hate change, and I don’t want to seem _pushy_ or anything.” He emphasizes the word _pushy,_ and Sebastian bristles.

“Asshole, you’re not supposed to listen to private conversations.”

“They’re not private if you’re yelling and I’m in the next room, dude,” Hunter says pointedly, giving him a look that he could swear he’s learned from Kurt. “Give it a thought, ok? I wouldn’t mind putting my fabulous business degree to use in something that I actually like, and just think of the Warblers shrine you could build with more wall space.”

Sebastian snorts, and then laughs almost uncontrollably, the sound of it loud in the quiet, dark street. “You’re something else, Hunt, honestly.”


	13. Chapter 13

The show sucks, Kurt is awesome in it, and Sebastian isn’t surprised. He is, however, mesmerized by the sheer stage presence of Kurt, and he would claim that it’s because he is a fool in love if only everybody else didn’t seem captivated in the same way. There’s something hypnotizing about Kurt, chilling and attention-seeking even when completely vulnerable. It’s obvious why Kurt got into NYADA, and Sebastian hates that the world doesn’t seem to be ready for the kind of talent that doesn’t scream mainstream media.

Sebastian feels nearly hazy looking at Kurt, up there, doing something that he so clearly loves. It’s scary, because he’s pretty sure that Kurt would choose the stage over him any day, and Sebastian isn’t sure that he would blame him. He’d wanted to be a dancer himself, so long ago that it feels like another life, and he can understand the electricity of performing very well.

The show doesn’t seem long enough, and what feels like mere minutes after it started, Sebastian and his small group are waiting outside the theater, the cold night air merciless on their skin. The rest of the group is talking, Tom jumping up and down excitedly as he does so, Hunter moving his hands about as he makes some point.

“I’m gonna have him sign his portrait,” Tom’s saying, “that way when he’s famous, I’ll be rich.”

They banter and laugh in the cold outside for a while longer, watching as the crowd leaves the theater. Eventually, though, the performers start coming out too, Kurt among them. He spots the little group easily enough, and walks to them only to be received by cheers and Tom’s always enthusiastic hug. Sebastian catches a soft smile on his face, and can’t help but smile himself.

When Kurt looks his way, Sebastian waves half-heartedly, and that seems to be the cue for everyone else to begin to scatter.

“We’ll, huh, see you there?” Hunter tells him, patting his back in much the same he’d patted Kurt’s not two seconds ago.

“Sure,” Sebastian answers, a tiny smile between his lips.

The tiny group goes away, and Sebastian spends a second looking at Hunter’s waving hand before he looks forward and at Kurt. They’re maybe five steps away and it’s strange, because even before they got together they’d always walked and stood really close together. Their physical distance is telling, and it hurts a little.

“So,” Kurt says, pressing his hands intently inside his coat’s pockets and balancing on his heels, like a child would, “Did you close the café?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian answers. “The world didn’t explode or anything; don’t think I’m not surprised.”

Kurt offers him a little smile, and accomplice one, like he knows that there are traces of real fear behind his joking. Kurt knows Sebastian hasn’t closed the café in years, after all.

“So,” Kurt begins again, still balancing on his heels, as if unsure, “Are you done freaking out?”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Sebastian counters immediately, almost unconsciously.

“Yes, yes you were.”

Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly stubborn, and replies, “Fine, _yes._ But you _were_ prying.”

He feels about five years old right now, his accusations weak and unfounded. He had a plan, dammit, one with adult conversations involved. Kurt smiles sheepishly, tough, shrugs minutely and looks away for just a moment, as if bracing himself. He takes a moment and then looks back at Sebastian; the distance between them still feels like too much.

“Maybe I was prying a little.”

Sebastian has to refrain himself from pointing an accusing finger and screaming ‘aha!’.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I _am_ sorry, really, but you’re so private sometimes, and I’m so curious. You give me tidbits and I want the whole picture, and you trust me, I know you do.” He stops, breathes in. “I’m sorry if I’m pushy.”

“I didn’t mean…” Sebastian stops, twists his expression for a moment. “Well, no, maybe I did mean… You’re just everywhere, Kurt. You’re in every crevice of my life and it’s fucking scary, alright?”

They don’t say anything for a moment, instead just staring at each other. Sebastian can’t take the distance, so he takes a step closer, bridges the gap even if just a bit.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” he says. He feels his shoulders drop, suddenly tired.

Kurt shrugs, though, and says, “It’s okay.”

Sebastian nods, and then reaches out, extending both his gloved hands like a small child. “Come here then,” he asks. “Please.”

Kurt does, and Sebastian doesn’t see any hesitation in the second that it takes him to find a place between his arms. Kurt reaches up and presses both arms over his shoulders and around his neck, fits himself easily against him when Sebastian wraps his own around his back. Kurt presses close, the tip of his nose cold against Sebastian’s cheek and his breath soft on his scarf.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, and it sounds as if he’s wanted to say it all night long. “Thank you for closing the café and coming here tonight.”

Sebastian doesn’t answer, and instead squeezes Kurt until it’s nearly uncomfortable before settling back into their embrace. Kurt laughs, just a bit, as if relieved.

“You wore a tie and everything,” Kurt says. “I saw you from the stage.”

“And I clean up so well, too, don’t you think?”

Kurt snorts, squeezes his shoulders. “You’re an idiot.”

Kurt kisses him then, stopping his reply with his deft tongue and his cold lips. Sebastian has no idea how a world without Kurt’s kisses is going to work, not when he can barely stand being five steps away from him. It’s going to be sad, and so, _so_ boring.

When they break apart, Sebastian asks. “So, you want to head over to the karaoke place? If we don’t let Hunter have his song, he may murder us in our sleep.”

“Can we wait a while? Sit for a bit?”

They walk a couple streets and find a bench to sit on, right in front of some nice looking apartment buildings. The light is low and the night is very cold, but Sebastian doesn’t care,  not when the spot they’ve chosen in this pretty and when the silence between them is so comfortable.

Kurt grabs one of his hands as Sebastian looks up and around them, the low lit and nearly empty street around them providing them with an almost cozy atmosphere. Paris always feels cozy to him, he guesses.

After a while, when Kurt’s been playing with his fingers absentmindedly and looking away, Sebastian says, “I liked your show. Or, well, I liked _you._ You were kind of breathtaking, actually.”

Kurt looks at him, and offers a weak smile.

“Honestly, princess, maybe you should stick to the singing and acting thing after all.”

Kurt shrugs, non-committal, so Sebastian leans against him and traps his ever moving fingers with his hand. “Come on, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m just so…” Kurt shrugs again, as if unsure, but ploughs on anyway, squeezing Sebastian’s fingers before letting them go so he can move his hands around as he speaks. “I’m so confused, Sebastian. I’m tired of trying so hard, and I’m not sure if a few nights a week on a stage with a show I hate are worth it. And I meant what I said this morning: I honestly don’t know what _we’re_ doing here, and it’s all–” He moves his hands around and over his head, expressing the word jumbled as best as he can. He makes a frustrated noise, and ends up wrapping his hands around his own arms, as if protecting himself from the outside world. Sebastian’s hand is left hanging, alone.

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, but then he breathes in noisily, and looking at the ground rather than at Sebastian, he says, “I don’t know if you care enough to do it, but sometimes I wish you would ask me to stay.”

Sebastian scoffs, almost offended, and quickly says, “Come on, princess, you know I love you, you _have_ to know.”

Kurt blinks up at him, and maybe he honestly didn’t know, and maybe Sebastian has been too blasé about his confession. There’s no reason to make a big fuss, though, not for such a simple feeling. Sebastian doesn’t let Kurt reply, and instead keeps talking.

“I can’t ask you to stay.” He says it matter-of-factly, like an indisputable statement. “You’d get bored, not knowing what to do, knowing my world but without one of your own. You’d resent me, and we’d end up being mean to each other. And babe, we’re so good at being mean, you and me.”

“I still wish you would ask.” Kurt’s tone is soft, breathy, and nearly wistful. Sebastian can’t resist it; he stands up, grasps Kurt’s hands and makes him stand as well, just so he can wrap him between his arms and press their foreheads together.

“Stay,” he says. “Stay with me, screw the rest of the world, friends, family, whatever confusing thoughts you have. Stay with me,” he whispers, his voice low and raspy in the small space between them. “After all, if you’re going to leave all your life behind, you might as well do it for someone hot.”

Kurt laughs, breathy and soft, and presses his face to Sebastian’s scarf-covered neck. “It’d be so easy to hide right here forever.”

“You’re not the hiding type, princess.”

“No, I guess I’m not.”

They stay like that just for a moment, breathing each other in, even if the scent of winter in the city seems to be the only thing permeating the air. The wind picks up around them, and Sebastian lifts his hand to cup Kurt’s cheek and finds his lips. They kiss slowly, the shape of Kurt’s lower lip in Sebastian’s mouth familiar and warm. When he tries to break apart, Kurt doesn’t let him, instead pushing his tongue inside his mouth and taking a moment to fight against the buttons of his coat just so he can press his arms inside it. Sebastian laughs against Kurt’s mouth, murmurs softly _so fucking pushy,_ his lips tracing the words against Kurt’s own. Kurt’s hands keep travelling under his clothes, pushing under his jacket and pulling up from the back of his shirt until he can press a gloved hand against the skin of his back.

He breaks away with a groan, and even as his hands work under Sebastian’s layers to remove the gloves, he says, “I hate winter, so many stupid layers.”

Sebastian smiles, steals a peck from Kurt’s lips. “But you _looove_ layers, princess, and the fall winter collections, and how they’re always oh so elegant and classy,” he says. “See? I do listen when you talk.”

Kurt looks up at him and sticks his tongue out, never once stopping the movement of his hands.

“Very mature, prin–ah, ah, fuck, cold hands!”

Kurt smiles this time, big and cheeky as he presses his cold palm to the skin of the small of Sebastian’s back, his thumb rubbing slowly up and down. His skin is freezing even when he’s been wearing gloves all this time, so Sebastian says:

“Let’s take you somewhere warm before we both freeze to death.”

“But you’re so warm already,” Kurt whines, wrapping himself tight around Sebastian and not letting go.

“You’re so much work, princess, honestly.”

“Damn right I am, Smythe,” he answers, squeezing Sebastian’s waist with one gloved hand and one cold naked one before stepping back. “Let’s go then, before it snows on us.”

Sebastian looks up at that, absentmindedly grabbing the hand Kurt offers him while looking at the sky. It’s cloudy and dark, speaking more of rain than snow, but then again, no one knows during the winter. He breathes out, the air leaving his mouth creating a cloud of white fog before him, and quickly buttons his coat up while following Kurt.

Sebastian wants to walk in silence, to enjoy this beautiful night in this beautiful city with Kurt and his friends, but everything they’re not saying is still nagging at the back of his head. If they don’t talk about it, Kurt’s going to be leaving in a few days and then that will be that. No hope, no future, not even some sketchy plans of mindless possibilities. It sounds like the right ending to the affair, maybe, a literary tragic goodbye for the lovers that get to move on with their lives after their brief encounter, always wistfully remembering their time together. Sebastian refuses to have them end like that, though, and suddenly feels too stubborn to do anything but hold the fuck on to whatever little thread of hope Kurt may give him.

“You could always come back,” he says, unintentionally sharp and fast, as if he’s too nervous.

Kurt turns his head to look at him and asks, “What?” He’d clearly been enjoying the night in that way Sebastian knows they should, and he looks startled by Sebastian’s sudden words.

“You could always come back,” he repeats.

“To Paris?” Kurt wonders. “Yeah, I suppose,” he says, shrugging. “It is a lovely city.”

Sebastian huffs, exasperated. “Don’t shrug it off like that,” he says. He pulls his hand away from Kurt’s and takes it to his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “I _mean_ it,” he states, now looking right into Kurt’s wide-opened eyes.

“Come back?” Kurt parrots. “To Paris?”

“Yes!” Sebastian exclaims. “Listen, you–you’re not in any state to answer this now, so… go back home. Finish your tour, go home and give it a thought, yeah?” Sebastian says, nodding and licking his lips; he must look manic. “I know you’re confused, and you go on about finding yourself or whatever, but princess, this whole thing you’re doing isn’t about that, and you know it. You’re running away from big decisions and–”

“Hey!” Kurt exclaims, taking a step back almost immediately. “You can stop the running commentary on my life right now, I’ve had enough of other people’s opinions to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.”

“Kurt, Kurt,” Sebastian calls, reaching out and finding Kurt’s arms, his shoulders, his face. He finds his cheeks and cups them in gloved hands, moves closer, breathes on his face, not knowing how to say what he wants to say without screwing up. “Please, just listen to me for a second,” he pleads.

Kurt nods, unconvincingly and with his mouth set in that stubborn, thin line of his, so ready to jump at any given moment, fiery and furious.

“What I’m trying to say,” Sebastian starts, slowly, trying to take his time and to choose his words. “What I’m saying, prin–”

“Just _say_ it already, Sebastian.”

“I want a real chance with you,” he says, finally. “I want–I want a lot of things, but I don’t want you staying here because it’s easier, or because you’re having some kind of crisis back home. So I just… I think you should finish this thing you’re doing and go back home, to your life, your family and your friends, and maybe _then_ you can give Paris a serious thought.”

“Sebastian, I don’t–”

“But I mean it. Not just for me,” he says, shaking his head. “For yourself. Maybe, somehow, there’s a life for you here, something that you could really want and love. And then… then I’ll just be a bonus.”

“A bonus? You want me to kiss my life goodbye for a _bonus_?”

“You’re being purposefully thick.”

“God,” Kurt says, taking a step back and leaving the circle of Sebastian’s arms. “I know, I know.” He pinches his nose and sighs tiredly. “It’s so hard to think with you around.”

“Well, yeah, I meant to say I’d be a _hot bonus._ ”

Kurt snorts, looking up at him through the space between his fingers. “An idiot is what you are.”

Sebastian smiles, shy and tiny, putting his hands inside his pockets and staying still. Kurt’s pacing before him, slow and unconscious, just two small steps every which way.

“Paris,” Kurt says, looking up at the sky. “I mean, it might have been a dream, once, maybe, I don’t know.” He sighs and stops abruptly right in front of Sebastian, so he can turn and look at him. He looks tired and weary, and it makes Sebastian want to postpone this conversation just so they can go lay down and get some sleep.

“So say…” Kurt starts, “Say I go back home, get back into my day to day life, and maybe consider the possibilities. Maybe I choose Paris, maybe I don’t, but at least I try making it happen, I try finding something other than a Disney-like, romantic idea of love that will make me happy here. And you, what? You just _wait_?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“For some teeny, tiny possibility?”

“The tiniest.”

“You would–You just–Ugh.” Kurt growls, taking the step that keeps them apart and wrapping himself around Sebastian, arms around his torso and hands splayed wide on his back. It feels like yards were separating them not a second ago, and now there’s not even a spare inch between them.

“You’re so frustrating,” Kurt says, his voice muffled as he speaks against Sebastian’s scarf.

“Pot, kettle, babe.”

Kurt shakes his head, moves up so he can place a moist, cold-lipped kiss on his mouth.

“I had a plan, you know?” Kurt says, breathing ever so close to him, his eyes half-lidded. “Because I never wanted to make this into something that it wasn’t, into some crazy romantic idea. I was just going to regale Blaine and Rachel and everyone back home with my crazy Parisian hook up with Sebastian Smythe story, scandalize them all, you know?”

“Oh, scandalous, am I?” Sebastian says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“My story was going to be,” Kurt counters.

“And now what?” 

Kurt doesn’t answer, instead kissing him again, long, wet and passionate, his tongue trailing over Sebastian’s in that way that makes him think of long expanses of creamy skin in his bed and under his hands. They don’t let go for a while, instead pulling each other impossibly close and kissing each other with chapped lips and damp mouths, hands trying to find each other’s shape over the thick layers of coats.

They break apart after a while, even when Sebastian’s hands are still roaming down Kurt’s back.

“I can’t make any promises,” Kurt says once his breathing has settled. He’s biting his lower lip in that nervous way he has, but his eyes don’t waver from Sebastian’s, and he doesn’t move an inch away.

“But,” Sebastian counters, “teeny, tiny possibility?”

Kurt nods, a small movement of his head, and Sebastian smiles. It’s not a promise, but Sebastian’s never been too good with those anyway. He prefers it like this, an idea, a chance, something to hold on to that feels real and tangible.

“You’ll still tell your scandalous story, though, right?” he wonders, his smile big and cheeky already.

Kurt smiles back, big and bright. “I’ll probably tape their reactions, too, just for fun,” he says. “And to pay them back for being annoying and meddlesome.”

“What exactly have they been telling you, princess?” Sebastian asks. “You’ve been sad about it for days.”

“It’s not–It’s nothing, really. They’re just worried,” he says, sighing. He steps away as he does so, but immediately grasps Sebastian’s hand and pulls him along so they’re walking again. It’s certainly taking them ages to walk four blocks, and he can only imagine the havoc Hunter will have broken on the karaoke once they get there.

“I’d be worried, too, I think,” Kurt continues, “if a friend of mine jumped on a plane to the other side of the world on a whim. It’s just that Blaine’s way of expressing worry usually implies calling my dad in a panic and being obnoxious,” he says, his mouth twisting in that way that’s so very _Kurt,_ that way that says that he’s judging you and that he finds you lacking. “And my dad somehow still thinks Blaine is a good judge when it comes to me. I don’t want my dad worrying, not like that.”

“And Rachel?”

“Oh, she’s usually my biggest cheerleader, talking about life experiences and whatnot, but she was too busy asking me about what color her dress should be for some party to actually listen to me.” He stops, rolling his eyes and motioning up with his nose. “And honestly, what the hell was she thinking? Orange is a terrible color on her.”

Sebastian laughs, feeling lighter than he’s felt all night, and squeezes Kurt’s hand. “So, no worrying, no running commentary on your life and no being obnoxious, or you’ll bite my head off?”

“And no orange.”

“Of course, no orange. But honestly, princess, it baffles me that turquoise is acceptable but orange isn’t.”

Kurt snorts, and squeezing Sebastian’s fingers between his own, he says, “What baffles me is what exactly I see in you. I can’t believe I actually love you.”

“Oh do you, now?” Sebastian says, quirking an eyebrow up and looking at Kurt even as a surge of warmth pools low in his stomach. “ _Thank you_ ,” he continues, his heart beating a steady but fast rhythm inside his ribcage, and his smile bigger by the second. “I was waiting for that, after my own heartfelt confession and all.”

“ _That_ counted as a heartfelt confession?” Kurt wonders almost immediately, even as he looks up at him and smiles brightly. “You’re so not prince charming.”

“You want a confession in song? I can have Hunter sing some backup, get me some choreography and everything.”

Kurt shakes his head, sharp and immediate. “Please say you’re not hiding a Dalton blazer somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t put Hunt past it, honestly.”

Kurt laughs, and the sound is free and open, the kind that’s unstoppable. Sebastian would laugh right along, but instead stops Kurt’s steps yet again, crowding his space and pushing their foreheads together. Kurt settles his hands on his hips, the touch almost unnoticeable over his thick coat, but there nonetheless. They’re so very close together, smiling, with the white fog coming from their mouths mingling together in the small space between them.

“I used to hate the way people would describe the forehead touching thing,” Sebastian says. “Thought no one really did that.”

“I always loved the forehead touching thing.”

“You would,” Sebastian counters. “Stupid romantic thing, after all. What else?”

Kurt hums, low and rumbly, and Sebastian wishes that his neck wasn’t covered by a scarf so that he could feel the vibration of his throat against his fingers.

“Touch of fingertips,” Kurt says. “Spend the whole night up talking.”

“I did offer that, but you insisted on having sex, remember?”

“And you looked so disappointed, too.” Kurt fake pouts, just a second, and then continues talking. “Long walks by the beach at sundown, a kiss at the corner of the lips, sitting close together for the first time and pressing the arms together, listening to someone’s beating heart, big, romantic cities, and–”

“What cities?”

“Any cities.”

“Like maybe Paris?”

“Possibly, maybe Paris.”

“There,” Sebastian says, “that’s good enough for me.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, kissing him instead. It’s still a long while before they make their way to the karaoke.


	14. Chapter 14

Two hours into karaoke night, and Kurt and Hunter have turned themselves into the new stars of the place. For all of his complaints, as soon as Kurt had grabbed that microphone, he’d had trouble letting it go for longer than one or two songs. Sebastian’s pretty sure he’s as drunk as he’s ever seen him, and that he’s gone through half of the karaoke’s song list already. He looks happy, though; happier than he’d looked when he’d left the theater a few hours before, and Sebastian, tipsy as he is as well, can’t help but smile at the scene before him.

“It’s disgusting how in love you two are,” Tom tells him all of a sudden, leaning into him and pressing their shoulders together. He’s well past drunk himself, his words slurring just a little bit. “Not like bad disgusting, like awesome disgusting, you know?”

Sebastian snorts, looking at him while keeping the corner of his eye fixed on the stage and Kurt’s and Hunter’s antics. “Your eloquence is astounding, Thomas.”

Tom harrumphs, and goes to mock punch him, but stops when he notices the movement will disturb Ginette, who’s been asleep for the past half hour with her head firmly planted on Tom’s shoulder. It’s kind of cute, the way Tom looks at her, and he thinks he understands what Tom means by _awesome disgusting._

“You two should go home,” Sebastian says. “Take a cab, get some rest.” On an impulse, he adds, “Take the day off tomorrow, go have some fun.”

“You’re the best, dude,” Tom says, missing the way Sebastian scrunches his nose at the word _dude._

Tom lifts himself from his leaning position against Sebastian, and goes to shake Ginette awake. Sebastian turns his eyes back to the stage, where Hunter is bowing exaggeratedly towards a group of girls that have been cheering both him and Kurt almost all night. They’re loud and boisterous, half drunk themselves as they yell towards the small stage in something that sounds like Spanish. Hunter seems more than happy to oblige when they ask for another song.

Kurt abandons him for this one, and trudges towards Sebastian in bouncy steps right before almost collapsing on the chair next to him and almost immediately planting his face on Sebastian’s shoulder.

“I’m drunk,” he declares.

“No, really? I wouldn’t have guessed if you hadn’t told me.”

Kurt bites at his shoulder jokingly, and mutters a barely audible _idiot_ against the fabric of his shirt. Sebastian simply puts an arm around him, and does his best at keeping him close.

“So, we’re leaving,” Tom announces after a second, and Sebastian looks at him to see him standing with a half-asleep Ginette hanging from his arm.

They say their goodbyes, Ginette kissing Kurt’s forehead and murmuring something unintelligible in French when Sebastian presses a small kiss to the back of her hand, just as he’d done earlier with Paulette when she had decided to leave them to their singing.

“You charmer, you,” Kurt tells him, pushing his face against Sebastian’s neck until he can press a small, messy kiss under his jaw. It tickles Sebastian, and he smiles as his fingers make their way into Kurt’s hair. Kurt kisses him again, and Sebastian hums, feeling content and pleasantly buzzed.

“Do you want to head home?” he asks, looking around and noticing that the place is almost empty, and that the beer he has left is already warm.

Kurt comes away from his hiding place at Sebastian’s neck and looks up at him, his eyes bright from the strong wine he’s been drinking and his cheeks slightly flushed. He smiles, and then motions towards the stage, where Hunter is practically serenading the group of girls since they seem to be only audience he has left.

“One last song, the three of us?” Kurt asks.

Sebastian feels like rolling his eyes, but when Kurt squeezes his thigh with a sure palm, he concedes. He lifts up a finger and says, “one, Kurt, I give you one, and no Broadway.”

Kurt pouts, big and teasing. “You’re no fun.”

“Of course I am,” Sebastian counters, plunging forward and trapping Kurt’s protruding lip between his own. Kurt whimpers, softly and quietly, dragging his fingers up and to Sebastian’s hair, bringing him closer and making the kiss a dirty affair. “See?” Sebastian says when they come up for air. “I _am_ fun.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, dragging him back for another kiss instead. Sebastian hums, licking then into Kurt’s parted mouth as he places one of his hands on the back of his neck, firm and warm, his fingers playing with the fine hairs he finds there. Kurt chases his tongue back into his mouth, his hands travelling down his chest and then up thighs, settling tantalizingly close to Sebastian’s crotch.

“I’m not going up there if you make me hard, you know?” Sebastian says, and chuckles happily when Kurt whines into his mouth.

“What is this, singing or making out? What kind of a choice is that, Smythe?” Kurt wonders, placing a kiss at the corner of Sebastian’s mouth and letting one of his hands wander higher up, right between Sebastian’s parted legs.

Sebastian gasps, quiet and slow, and has to make a physical effort to tear his eyes away from Kurt’s and look around them, making sure no one’s paying them any attention. “You’re going to get us arrested for public indecency, princess.”

Kurt smiles, kisses his top lip this time.

“Christ, you’re drunk,” Sebastian murmurs.

Kurt’s smile is still there, cheeky and puffy from their kissing. His cheeks are still flushed and his eyes bright. He looks handsome and happy, and Sebastian feels his heart beat faster but steadier at the notion that he’s at least partly responsible for that happiness. He’s always been terrible with people, and even while he’s loved before, he’s always been more aware of what the other person did for him than the other way around. Kurt’s launched his life in new and unexpected directions, for sure, but nothing makes Sebastian want this more than the notion that he may have done something similar for Kurt as well.

“Stop with the thinking,” Kurt tells him, poking his forehead with a single finger and then squeezing his cock with the hand that he’s still resting between his legs. “Let’s go sing,” he exclaims, taking both hands away from Sebastian and clapping excitedly.

“Cheeky minx,” Sebastian murmurs. He stands up, though, and follows Kurt towards the stage to be received by an overly excited Hunter and a crowd of screaming girls.

           

* * *

 

They reach the apartment in a heap of limbs, Hunter doing most of the heavy lifting since he’s completely sober, and Kurt nearly asleep in between them while still managing to grope Sebastian whenever he gets a chance. Hunter lets go of Kurt once they’re in the living room by pressing him fully into Sebastian, making sure he’s holding on tight.

"You two alright?” Hunter wonders, even as his eyes scan the floor, probably looking for that fur ball he calls a cat. Sure enough, Mr. Puss appears from behind the sofa, and Hunter’s eyes brighten immediately.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, nodding. “I’ll just drag this one to bed.”

“Goodnight, Bas,” Hunter says, his voice overpowering Kurt’s weak and drunken attempt at claiming that _this one has a name._

“Night, Hunt.”

Once inside the bedroom, Sebastian all but drops Kurt into the bed, the only sound coming from him a slightly put off groan followed by a sleepy sigh. Sebastian sighs himself, and then sits at the edge of the bed and begins working on Kurt’s shoes.

“Getting me all worked up like that and then falling asleep on me?” he murmurs. “You torture me.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, instead turning around until he’s looking up at the ceiling, the whole movement accompanied by grunting noises, as if he’s never made a bigger effort in his life. Sebastian chuckles, amused, and seriously considers taking a picture for the sole purposes of blackmail. He gives up the idea, though, when Kurt whines.

“What’s up, babe?” he wonders, his hands already busy with the laces of Kurt’s second shoe.

Kurt whines yet again, and when Sebastian looks at him, he finds him in a seemingly murderous war against the buttons of his shirt.

"This is so hard,” Kurt says, even as he manages to undo a couple of buttons.

“Not the only thing that’s hard,” Sebastian counters, throwing a shoe to the floor and going for Kurt’s shirt, so he can help him unbutton it.

Kurt offers him what he assumes is supposed to be a leering smile and whispers, “Come here then, let’s have some lazy, drunken, uncort-uncood- _uncoordinated_ sex.”

Sebastian smiles, and hovers over Kurt for a second before moving up and pressing a lingering kiss to his temple. “Not the sexiest offer I’ve ever had, I’ll say.”

Kurt grunts and crosses his arms over his chest, but smiles when Sebastian only barks out a laugh and keeps helping him out of his clothes. By the time Kurt’s impossibly tight pants are on the floor, he’s already asleep and sighing softly. Sebastian throws the covers over him before brushing his teeth and throwing on a pair of sweatpants so he can join him on the bed. He does, finding a spot right next to Kurt’s warm skin, and falls asleep in no time at all.         

* * *

In the morning, Sebastian steps into the kitchen to find Hunter already there, clad in running shoes and softly kneading Mr. Puss’ fur while drinking a cup of coffee.

“Going for a run?” he offers, the question followed by a big yawn.

Hunter just nods and hums, not stopping his drinking. His pinky finger is tapping away against the coffee cup, and Sebastian wonders if he’s particularly nervous about something, or if it’s just Hunter being himself. He chooses not to say anything, and instead goes to fetch a coffee for himself while trying to think of something that will distract Hunter.

“It was fun last night,” he says finally, turning around with a mug between his hands and leaning back against the counter.

Hunter smiles a little goofily. “Best night ever; I had an audience and everything.”

“Got any numbers?” Sebastian asks, wiggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly and smirking.

“Please,” Hunter counters. “I’m an artist, I don’t date the fans.”

Sebastian snorts into his coffee, and his smirk becomes a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, you had fun, too, don’t think I didn’t notice your glee at dancing on a stage.”

“Yeah, I’m just not sure the fun makes up for the mortification of watching you and Kurt drunkenly singing Broadway tunes.”

Hunter huffs, leaving his probably finished cup of coffee on the counter and grabbing Mr. Puss so he can place him back on the floor. “Where is he, anyway?” Hunter asks.

“Passed out. Terrible hair, snores, drool and everything; I’m a little scared that I find it all so cute.”

“Awww, that’s adorable,” Hunter coos, making as if to pinch his cheek and stopping only when Sebastian bats him away with a firm hand and _glares._ “I will mock you for this forever.”

“Shut up, go run. I will not stand for this humiliation.”

“Dramatic,” Hunter says. “But yeah, I’ll go. Be out for a while, ok?”

“Bye, Hunt.”

Hunter waves absentmindedly and leaves the house with inaudible steps. Sebastian thinks he’s doing better, but then again, he’s proven over and over again what a terrible judge he can be where Hunter is concerned. Hunter’s good at hiding his own problems, too, never willing to share just how unwell he’s feeling exactly. He’d tried, once, explaining how it wasn’t so much about feeling better or worse but about handling what he’d called _his condition._ He’d said that it was a perpetual sort of sickness, always at the back of his head, making him twitch. He seems happier to Sebastian, though, steadier now that he has a plan and that he’s settled with him for a while.

Sebastian pours a second cup of coffee after a while, and then considers opening up the windows to have a cigarette. He’s not much of a morning smoker really, and he’s been considering quitting the couple of cigarettes a day thing anyway, so he opens the window, but doesn’t smoke. He’ll miss the sight of the orange tip of a cigarette at night more than the taste, honestly.

He’s rummaging around the kitchen for something to eat when he starts hearing sounds coming from inside his bedroom. He thinks he hears some grunting, and then the uneven steps of someone stumbling around. He smiles, thinking of the welcome sounds of domesticity.

Kurt finally comes out when Sebastian is busy munching on a muffin and preparing a cup of coffee, this time for Kurt himself. Kurt steps immediately into him, curling against his back and bringing his arms around him, pressing his palms flat against Sebastian’s stomach. Sebastian presses his own hands on top of Kurt’s, looks gingerly at their fingers resting together on his skin.

“You’re cold,” Kurt murmurs. “Shouldn’t walk around without a shirt on.” Then, he adds, “Show off.”

Sebastian just hums, enjoying Kurt’s weight against his back, and trying not to move too much as he pours milk and sugar in the coffee. He munches on the last piece of his muffin, and as he does so, Kurt steps away just so he has enough space to drag his nails down Sebastian’s back, scratching softly at his skin. Sebastian sighs, relaxed and suddenly hot at the same time, and comes close to purring when Kurt repeats the movement of his blunt nails.

“You’re basically a cat, did you know?” Kurt says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He’s warm all over, sleepy soft, and Sebastian thinks his knees are going to give up on him.

“Now, what are you hiding from me?” Kurt wonders. “Is it cake? Are you hiding cake from me?”

Sebastian smiles, turning around inside Kurt’s embrace and holding a cup of coffee in one hand and an untouched muffin in the other. “Your sugar habits never cease to astound me,” he quips, offering Kurt both his possessions.

Kurt smiles right back at him, taking the cup from him and murmuring, “you’re fantastic,” before taking a bite from the muffin that’s still in Sebastian’s hand.

“See? I only get compliments when I’m offering treats; I feel so used.” He sighs, dramatically, and chuckles when all the answer Kurt manages is a half-hearted roll of eyes.

He keeps himself busy, munching on the muffin and drinking his coffee while leaning on Sebastian, and Sebastian would complain, except that Kurt’s warm all over and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and his Mickey Mouse t-shirt. His usually perfectly coiffed hair is a mess of plastered strands and his eyes look tired, but there’s nothing about him that doesn’t make him completely and absolutely tempting.

Once he’s done with the muffin, the last bite of it being more an exercise in licking Sebastian’s fingers than a bite, Sebastian moves his hands down and settles them on Kurt’s hips, twisting a couple of fingers on the edge of the t-shirt.

“How come you aren’t completely hangover?” he asks.

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk, Sebastian,” Kurt answers, saying his name in that tone that’s half reproachful teacher and half amused friend.

“Really, now?” Sebastian counters. “Because the amounts of public groping you do is usually a pretty good sign of how much you’ve had to drink.”

“There wasn’t any public groping!” Kurt complains. Sebastian, almost immediately, lifts an eyebrow, and Kurt huffs and glares. “Well, _no one_ was looking, so it doesn’t count.”

Sebastian hums for an answer, bringing his hands to the small of Kurt’s back and letting him drink his coffee in peace for a few seconds. He leans even more against the counter, resting most of his weight on his back and letting one leg find its place alongside one of Kurt’s naked ones. He fancies he can feel his skin even through the thin layer of his sweatpants.

“It was hot,” he says, smirking. “Super hot, even. At least until the whole passing out and snoring situation.”

“Hey!” Kurt complains. “If I remember correctly, I did offer sex.”

“Yes, you did; pity I usually like my partners conscious.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, instead sticking his tongue out at him and scrunching his nose while settling his half finished cup of coffee on the counter, just so he can curl his hands around Sebastian’s shoulders. Sebastian softens his smirk, letting his fingers play around between the edge of Kurt’s t-shirt and the waistband of his underwear.

“I had fun last night,” Kurt says. He sounds wistful, almost, like the concept of fun is something foreign to him. “It was almost like singing with Rachel back at the Spotlight Diner back in New York, with the way Hunter hogs the microphone, honestly.”

Sebastian smiles, too, relishes the softness of Kurt’s voice. “I had mixed feelings of fun and second hand embarrassment.”

“Shut up, you were enjoying it just as much,” Kurt tells him, resting his forearms against his shoulders and circling his neck with his hands. “I saw you looking, Smythe, you can’t fool me with your smug superiority.”

“I may have enjoyed you shaking your ass in your tight pants, yes,” he counters. “Can you blame me?”

Kurt doesn’t answer immediately, and Sebastian feels as if he’s pondering whether he should call him an idiot or not. He’s blushing, though, and Sebastian decides to take advantage of how easily Kurt can be flustered sometimes.

“Not that you _without pants_ isn’t an enjoyable view too,” he says, noticing his voice turn rough, lower in its tone.

Kurt stays quiet, looking at him with big blue eyes and rosy cheeks, like the picture of some virginal ideal. Kurt’s not an ideal, and certainly not as virginal as his cheeks suggest, though. He’s tangible, more real than anything else has ever been in Sebastian’s life, and extremely sexual even if his easy to blush face suggests otherwise.

Sebastian moves his hands down, inside Kurt’s boxers, and cups his ass.

Kurt sucks his lower lip inside his mouth, quiet and still blushing, but wonders, “Is it?”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” Sebastian says, squeezing his ass between his hands, and trying to bring Kurt closer, as physically impossible as it seems.

Kurt smiles coyly, lowers his eyelids, and now he’s just _playing_ the blushing virgin. “Am I?” he wonders, following his own game.

“Honestly, babe? If I could have you in this apartment just like this every hour of every day I would never leave this place,” Sebastian says, and his words are half seduction but full truth. “Actually, I want you to keep this t-shirt.”

“Huh?” Kurt wonders, not looking down, and probably knowing that he’s wearing Sebastian’s t-shirt, even if he’s claimed it for his own.

“Yeah, I want you to keep this t-shirt,” Sebastian continues, “I want you to keep it, and wear it, and think of me, and touch yourself, and _know_ what thinking about that does to me.”

“ _Jesus,_ Sebastian,” Kurt says, his tone breathy and his blush suddenly renewed. “You _can’t_ say things like that. You’re so obscene.”

“I haven’t even started with the obscene part yet.”

Kurt barks a laugh at that, big and happy, right before moving as if to kiss him. He stops a breath away from Sebastian’s lips, murmurs, “Enough with the porn movie talk.”

Sebastian doesn’t have time to smile before he’s being kissed, fully and hungrily even if almost too slowly to bear. He moans into it, but the sound gets swallowed up by Kurt’s tongue inside his mouth, licking mindlessly and wickedly. Sebastian feels warm all over, in his lips and his mouth, the pit of his stomach and his toes. Kurt tastes sweet, of the muffin he’s eaten and the sugar in his coffee, and when he tries to move away Sebastian chases the taste, joins their lips again and stumbles into Kurt as he tries to move back and guide him somewhere. Sebastian follows him blindly, stumbling while trying to follow every kiss with another one.

When they’re in the bedroom, Sebastian is the first one to get onto the bed, lying down and almost immediately chucking away his clothes. He reaches out towards Kurt, and helps him push away his own underwear. Kurt hovers over him, pale and sleepy and perfect in that way that is everything but, t-shirt still on, half smile a little shy, tip of his cock unabashedly dragging on the skin of Sebastian’s stomach. Sebastian has the mind to say something, but instead reaches out again and pulls the t-shirt up and over Kurt’s head.

Kurt falls down easily, settling himself half on the mattress and half on top of Sebastian, one of his legs between Sebastian’s own.

Sebastian hums, murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sebastian.” His name rolls from Kurt’s tongue almost like a caress, and Sebastian feels it go down his back, through his legs, into his cock.

They kiss, lazy and warm, Sebastian’s hands mapping out Kurt’s side, the jutting bone of his hip, his ass. Kurt’s skin feels soft and hot against his hand, and he doesn’t ever want to stop touching. They kiss for a long while, enjoying the sunny morning outside that’s bringing clear bright light into the room, and the feeling that there’s no need to rush.

“You’re so lazy today,” Kurt mumbles after a while, breaking away from his mouth and finding a cozy spot on Sebastian’s neck. He places open-mouthed wet kisses against his skin, moving slowly from his jaw to his collarbone.

Sebastian’s more than lazy, comfortable to the point where he would fall asleep if it wasn’t for Kurt’s kisses and their cocks pressing hard and impatient against each other’s skin. He hums a late agreement to Kurt’s statement, and closes his eyes. Kurt takes that as his cue to keep travelling down, his mouth finding a nipple and his hands settling firm but soft on Sebastian’s hips. He breathes against Sebastian’s chest, nosing his way through his breast bone to lick both his nipples, the point of his tongue a barely there caress around them.

Sebastian sighs softly to it all, feeling the warmth extend throughout all of his body, thinking that maybe he’s in some kind of dream state. He’d be convinced of the truth of that thought if it wasn’t for Kurt kicking around at the sheets tangled on their legs and cursing quietly before he can reach his navel with his mouth.

Sebastian laughs, bringing his hand to Kurt’s hair and opening his eyes. “Are you ok there?”

“Your stupid sheets are trying to kill me, but yeah,” Kurt answers. He looks up at him from his place between Sebastian’s now parted legs, where he’s comfortably nestled even if he’s about to fall from the bed, his feet and half his legs already hanging out. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, when he presses a kiss right under Sebastian’s navel, and then keeps travelling down.

He licks at Sebastian’s cock, a long, slow stripe from his balls to the rosy tip, tracing the vein on the underside. Sebastian moans, low and long, and lets his head fall back down into the pillow. He can feel Kurt smiling before he goes in for a second long lick. He keeps at it, slow, so slow that Sebastian feels as if he’s being burnt from his toes to the top of his head. He tries to buck up, but Kurt prevents it, his hand a soft pressure on Sebastian’s hips.

“God, come here,” he says suddenly, sitting and reaching towards Kurt with both arms. Kurt looks at him, all questioning big eyes, but lets himself be manhandled until Sebastian has him laying down on the bed on his side, his crotch at eye level, his cock as close to Sebastian’s mouth as his own is to Kurt’s.

“I like this thought,” Kurt says, not giving the statement a second to settle before he’s back between Sebastian’s legs, opening his mouth around the tip of Sebastian’s cock.

Sebastian groans and watches for a moment the shape of Kurt’s lips around him, his closed eyes and his hands as they settle on his thigh and his ass, squeezing tightly. Kurt’s hard and leaking before his eyes, though, and he doesn’t take too long before he’s nuzzling between his legs, the scent of arousal strong around him. He follows Kurt’s lead, licking slowly from between his balls to the tip of his cock lazily before going for more, and settling one arm around Kurt’s waist and the other between his thighs. Kurt moans, and Sebastian feels the vibration all the way through his spine.

He’s always liked this, being intertwined in an endless circle, so connected that breaking apart feels nearly impossible. It’s intimate, with the way he can feel the vibration of every single one of Kurt’s moans. He brings Kurt closer, his arms all around him and his fingers skimming softly up his back, his mouth already settled on a slow, dragging rhythm around his cock. Kurt follows his lead, but also lets his nails scratch at the small of his back, deep and slow, and then follows a downwards path until one of his fingers falls between his ass cheeks.

Sebastian grunts, the sound muffled between Kurt’s legs, and has to fight his own hips that want to follow the heat of Kurt’s mouth and also sink back until his finger is buried deep within him. Kurt lets him, one of his hands soothing him with a soft caress up and down his thigh while with the other he begins to curl inside him, fingers bending at the knuckles, spreading him. He moves up his cock, and stays sucking at the head while giving him a third finger, and Sebastian has to let go of Kurt’s own cock so he can gasp against the skin of his hip.

“Fuck, Kurt,” he says, and it sounds like a whine. He groans then, and he honestly doesn’t know if he wants to keep Kurt right where he is or if he wants him to fuck him properly.

Kurt ends up making the decision for him. He pulls completely away from him, mouth, fingers and whole body, and Sebastian can do nothing but audibly whine. Kurt laughs, even as he’s pressing a line of short, quick kisses against his side and moving up the bed.

“Don’t be impatient,” he chastises.

“You’re so cruel to me,” Sebastian manages to say, but is quickly quieted when Kurt pushes a hard kiss on his lips.

Finally, Kurt settles behind him on the bed and busies himself by kissing the back of Sebastian’s neck while finding lube and a condom. It takes a minute, but then Kurt’s pushing inside him, his mouth at Sebastian’s shoulders now and his hand firm and steady on Sebastian’s stomach.

“Ugh, you’re killing me,” Sebastian manages to say, even through his heavy breathing and the beginning of a moan. Kurt counters his statement with a hard, long thrust and by lowering his hand until he’s circling Sebastian’s cock.

“No, wait,” Sebastian says when Kurt starts moving his hand on his cock. “Not yet, make it last,” he asks.

Kurt hums right against his ear, light and amused. “I thought I was killing you,” he breathes out, even as he moves his hand back to rest on his stomach.

“I’m a complicated person.”

This time Kurt fully laughs, so Sebastian twists his neck around until he can kiss him properly, all tongue and teeth, deep and hard. Kurt sinks into it with a breathy moan, and starts thrusting into him in slow, shallow pulls, circling his hips just when he’s the deepest he can get. Sebastian’s convinced his hips might be magical, with the way he has of moving them that seems to unravel him so.

They keep at it, slow but hard, with Kurt moving behind Sebastian but keeping him close to his chest, stealing a kiss whenever he can. Sebastian’s a fan of the slow, lazy pace, especially on cold but sunny mornings, and more so with Kurt, who always catches his moods easily. He thinks it may be some reaction to the quick and hurried fucks he used to have when he was younger, or maybe some unconscious wish to keep Kurt as close as possible for as long as possible. Whatever the case, the weight of Kurt at his back as his rhythm becomes erratic, coupled with the feeling of him inside and all around him is basically the best thing in the world.

It’s a long while before they let each other come, a long while spent in moans and slow rolls of their hips, of breathy laughter whenever it gets too be too much but they insist on _just a little more._ When Sebastian comes, with a groan and holding tight onto the hand that Kurt still has on his stomach, Kurt takes mere seconds before he’s following with a mumbled _oh, thank God._ Sebastian laughs, exhausted and sweaty, and flops onto his back next to Kurt.

Kurt, his breathing still heavy, says, “Fuck.”

Sebastian laughs again, because he’s happy, and because it must have been a good one if Kurt’s swearing. “Yeah, we’re so good at this,” Sebastian whispers. “Porn movie good; we should think of that as a plan b for career choice.”

Kurt smacks him half heartedly, seemingly too tired for anything else. “Shut up, let me enjoy my post-orgasmic bliss,” he tells him.

“Oh, fine,” he concedes, putting an arm around Kurt when he curls on his side and rests his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, nuzzling at the skin he finds there.

“I’m sleepy again,” Kurt says. “And hungry.”

“Food or sleep, make your choice.”

“Mmmm, sleep,” he answers. And then, after a beat, “Then food.” 

* * *

 

Sebastian wakes up some time later with Kurt still warm at his side. There’s dry come on his chest, and he feels sweaty and tired, so he keeps his eyes closed, putting off getting up just a while longer.

“Come on, I know you’re awake,” Kurt tells him, resting his hand on his side and caressing up and down.

“Shhh, I’m basking.”

Kurt smiles against his skin, and then he moves until Sebastian is being kissed, thoroughly and beautifully, chapped lips and soft tongue all focused on him. He puts his hands in Kurt’s hair, and holds on. When they break apart, he’s half hard already.

“Hello to you, too,” he quips, opening his eyes and seeing Kurt hovering over him. It’s almost like the scene of a dream, except that instead of seeing a happy, satisfied smile, Kurt looks like the world’s about to end, eyes red rimmed and smile quivery.

“Kurt, what is it?”

Kurt shrugs, non-committal, and looks away. Immediately, Sebastian sits up, Kurt following the movement and bringing his knees closer to himself, but also pressing his cheek against Sebastian’s shoulder and resting there, staying close. Sebastian brings his arms around him, panicked and feeling suddenly completely out of his depth. The stay silent then, breathing quietly next to each other.

“I’m just so sad,” Kurt whispers eventually. Sebastian doesn’t say anything, instead waiting until Kurt continues. “I kept imagining this whole lachrymose scene at the airport, with goodbyes and crying and god, Sebastian, it’s going to be awful.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything. What is he supposed to say, anyway? It’s not going to get better, and Kurt has about ten days before he has to leave Paris, and unless he chains him to his bed there’s little else he can do about the situation. He hugs Kurt closer, and rests his chin on his head.

“I don’t have any answers for that,” he says. “Not me, definitely not me; you keep saying I’m emotionally moronic.”

Kurt snorts, the sound a little strangled. “There’s that, yes. I just–” he stops, breathes in, and Sebastian wonders if he’s trying to stop tears. “I don’t want any big emotional scene at the airport, ok? It’s all very romantic comedy gone wrong, and also kind of tacky, honestly.”

Sebastian laughs, and moves away just enough to see the way Kurt is frowning, his nose scrunching in that way that’s so very him.

“I want to say goodbye at the café, I think.”

“Fitting, very full circle and all,” Sebastian says, nodding. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to think about goodbye at all, but he thinks it’ll be easier on him too if he doesn’t have to come back from the airport alone and dejected. “We can have a party,” he offers. “Just Hunter, Tom, Paulette, Ginette, you and me.”

“And Mr. Puss,” Kurt adds.

"Ah, yes, of course, your biggest fan. He was so upset he couldn’t make your show.”

Kurt scoffs, but smiles a little at him, and that seems like enough for now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still a bit dejected. “We were having such a good morning.”

They were, too, but Kurt’s sadness is catching and true, and now Sebastian is thinking about the uncertainty that’s going to fill him once Kurt goes. He supposes the ball’s on Kurt’s court once he boards a plane away from Paris, and Sebastian can’t help but feel anxious at the lack of control he has over this. He has control over the rest of his life, though, so maybe he’ll busy himself with torturous hours of writing something that makes him happy, and with the new possibilities of the café. Somehow, it all feels a tad too challenging without the idea of ending his day with Kurt. And honestly, it’s not that he can’t live without Kurt, but he just doesn’t want to.

He sighs, but says, “Let’s make your last few days the best ever, ok? I’ll even do the touristy stuff I hate if you want.”

“Maybe just some of it, for the pleasure of seeing you suffer,” Kurt counters, his smile bigger this time, more genuine.

"Oh, you wound me so.”

When Kurt doesn’t answer, Sebastian kisses him again instead, deep and hard and long. He has the feeling that he should hold the fuck on and never let go, no matter the consequences. He knows he can’t, so he holds on, if only just for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, it's been so long. So sorry.


	15. Chapter 15

“Coffee and a croissant in front of the Eiffel Tower? Really, Kurt, _really?”_ Sebastian whines, even as he’s sitting down and trying not to smile at Kurt’s mock glare.

“You said you’d do the touristy stuff, Sebastian, don’t be a pouter.”

Sebastian harrumphs, crossing his arms over his chest and overplaying the part of offended Parisian. “I never said I wouldn’t complain, babe.”

Kurt swats at him, hitting his shoulder first, only to let his hand linger and then go down his arm to join Sebastian’s own. He tangles their fingers together, effectively disarming any sense of reproach his first gesture may have had. He smiles, soft and small, and looks out the window at the busy street.

“I’m so busy watching this splendorous view,” Kurt begins, enunciating the word  _splendorous_ exaggeratedly just for Sebastian’s benefit and making him smile in the process, “that I just won’t notice any more whines coming out of your mouth.” Then, after a second, he adds, “Idiot.”

Sebastian only laughs, squeezing Kurt’s fingers between his own and signaling for a waiter before resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his upturned hand. He breathes slowly, feeling himself relax as he unabashedly stares at Kurt, who paints quite the romantic picture, clad in tailored winter clothes and looking at the window with a pensive set of eyes. He could write about this very moment, guessing at Kurt’s thoughts, and it’d be so easy.

As it is, Sebastian would rather not think at all, much less about what might be going through Kurt’s mind today. It’s their last day together, Kurt’s flight early in the morning marking the end of their six week affair. It seems so little time that when Sebastian thinks about it his more rational self insists on telling him that there’s no possible way he’s this attached to Kurt, to his smile, the feel of his hand inside his own, the way his lips shape words, his scrunched nose or his quiet laugh. That same rational side of his tells him that this is a flight of fancy, that the moment Kurt boards that plane he will forget his deep feelings and keep nothing but a hazy memory of creamy skin and beautiful blue eyes. He wishes he could believe himself.

They’d woken up tangled together again this morning, limbs tight around each other in the grayish light filtering through his window. They’d had breakfast at the café with Hunter, Tom mumbling about sketching Ginette even after she swatted at him in embarrassment, and Paulette exhorting them in soft French to stop playing around and get to work already. Sebastian had looked at Kurt then, excited as he moved his hands around while telling the tragic story of Pavarotti’s death to an amused Hunter, and he’d realized that no matter how short a time he’d been here, Kurt had made himself a place inside his life, among his friends. There had been nothing fleeting about his presence at the café that morning, so there is no way there is in Sebastian’s heart.

Sebastian smiles softly, perhaps a little wistfully, and only wakes up from his daydream when Kurt places a steaming cup of coffee before him, the clatter of the plate against the table breaking his early morning fantasy.

“You ordered?” he wonders, suddenly being made aware of their surroundings, the noisy customers and busy waiters, the grey light from the outside reflecting shadows on the crystal of their table.

Kurt doesn’t answer, just mumbling a small  _uh, huh_ before taking a bite of what’s probably a fantastically warm chocolate croissant.

 “I ordered, they brought food, you daydreamed,” Kurt answers, reaching for a paper napkin and squeezing Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian looks at their entwined fingers, tangled together from the moment they had sat down, and realizes he may still be half inside his dream. “Stop it,” Kurt whines, shaking his hand now. “I don’t want to know where you are right now or what you’re thinking about, but it’s probably sad and woeful, so  _stop it._ ”

Sebastian arches an eyebrow at Kurt's authoritative tone, stilling their hands and letting his lips settle into a smirk. Kurt would be hard pressed not to confess that he knows exactly what Sebastian is thinking about; that goodbye looming over them and getting closer by the second. Still, denial might just be their biggest talent all things considered, and Sebastian chooses not to waste their last day together in meaningless chats about their not so distant separation. Instead, he says:

“I was so enthralled by your beauty, you see,” Sebastian says, reaching out with his second hand to find Kurt’s, so that they’re connected in a circle. Then, widening his smirk, he continues, his tone mock-wistful, playing around with the words he pronounces. “ _You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known. You fascinate me._ ” At this Kurt smiles, and it is only as Sebastian continues his speech that he begins to scrunch his nose and forces his lips into a mocking tight line. “ _The thought of not seeing you again… to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses… it would be unendurable. You are the m–”_

“Are you quoting _Twilight_ at me, Sebastian Smythe?” Kurt stops him, wrenching one of his hands free and actively glaring at him, mouth agape and eyes judging.

Sebastian barks out a laugh, wishing he could take a picture of Kurt’s expression. “You _like_ _Twilight_!” he accuses.

“It’s a _guilty pleasure,_ Sebastian, and I will not be mocked–”

“But you want to have sex with Taylor Lautner in a field of lilacs and–”

“I was sixteen!” Kurt whines, offended. “Ugh, I’m never telling you anything ever again, I swear.”

“Now who’s being a pouter?” Sebastian counters, only laughing again when Kurt sticks his tongue out him, managing to look like the sulkiest five year old in the universe.

“You’re a jerk,” Kurt tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. “A _Twilight-_ quoting jerk, which, by the way, if you hate it so much, how can you quote it so exactly?”

“I won’t divulge my secrets, no sir.”

Kurt harrumphs, but let’s the shadow of a smile cross his face as he looks straight at Sebastian. “I bet you secretly read the books when no one was watching, crying like a baby and wishing for an Edward Cullen of your own.”

Sebastian only laughs, squeezing the one hand of Kurt’s that he’s still holding, and says, “Talking from experience, are we?”

Kurt gasps, mock-offended and exaggerated, but smiles fully when he says, “You’re a complete idiot, and I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like you either.”

Sebastian smiles at that, and looks at Kurt with the knowledge that he’s thinking of a time long gone, of another coffee shop with much worse coffee and far less fancy tables, where they had once interchanged perhaps similar statements, if only without the soft affectionate tone behind them that declared them untrue. So many years since Lima, Sebastian thinks, only to end up here anyway. He would call it destiny if only he believed in such a thing, but since he hates the idea of anything being written in the stars, he doesn’t give it a name, and instead thinks that what keeps them together and facing each other is nothing but choice and the fulfilling lingering sentiment of an almost impossible connection.

Kurt opens his mouth, and for a second, looking at his softened features and the shine of his eyes, Sebastian thinks that he’s going to say _I love you._ The moment might be calling for it, too, but Kurt’s never been one to fit Sebastian’s predictions, and so he just pushes an untouched croissant towards him, and smiles slyly at him.

“Eat your breakfast; you still have to take me up the Eiffel Tower.”

“You want to go up?” Sebastian complains immediately, the whiny tone of his voice a gut reaction. “But _Ku-urt…”_

“Hush, now,” Kurt counters. “I fascinate you and you love me, so you will make my every wish come true.”

Sebastian has to fight himself not to laugh, loving the inherent confidence of Kurt’s statement, happily surprised that Kurt doesn’t seem to doubt Sebastian’s feelings for him at all.

 “Fine,” Sebastian answers, “but I will complain every step of the way.”

        

* * *

 

Sebastian’s never had any problem admitting that he’s a bit of a snob; he’s a rich brat raised in between France and the States, in the high-class spheres where just his last name had been enough to grant him approving looks. It’s no wonder then that the so called  _touristy stuff_ has always made him roll his eyes half in disgust and half in contempt. It must show, too, since the moment they reach the top of the Eiffel Tower, Kurt tells him:

“Don’t be a snob; you’re not too good for this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian has to smile, because of course Kurt will enjoy this, and of course he will call Sebastian on being an uppity idiot. Whatever the case, Sebastian has to concede that the view is quite striking, much more so with Kurt leaning towards the precipice as much as the protections allow in childlike enthusiasm. He lets himself enjoy the sight, even as he shivers at the cold wind flowing through the metal structure.

Kurt looks at him after a minute, hair flowing around his face. He looks cold, his cheeks and his nose reddish against his pale skin, but he’s smiling when he says, “I can’t believe I was going to leave Paris without climbing up the Eiffel Tower. You’re a terrible tourist guide.”

“Fine, yes, I suck at tourism,” he concedes, “but, I’m fantastic in bed, so.”

Kurt snorts, smiling cheekily even as he pulls Sebastian forward and throws his arms over his shoulders, resting them heavily there and linking his hands behind Sebastian’s neck. When he starts speaking, it’s a whispering murmur. “Are you implying that your cock trumps the most visited monument in the world?”

“Well, I’d say my cock is quite a monument, yes.”

Kurt snorts again, noisily and unstoppably, and leans his forehead on Sebastian’s shoulder to hide his smiling lips. He stays there, his shoulders shaking softly with laughter and his gloved fingers caressing soothingly at the back of Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian moves his arms around him in a loose embrace, and doesn’t let go even when Kurt turns his face around so he can keep his eyes on the view the tower offers.

“It’s not a terrible view,” Sebastian whispers after some long, quiet minutes.

“No, no it’s not,” Kurt whispers back, not taking his eyes away from the streets of Paris for another long while. When he finally looks up at Sebastian, his eyes look shiny, and all he says is, “Let’s go home.”

          

* * *

 

The grey of the sky gives way to a light storm on their way back to the café, and by the time they’re walking inside they’re soaked to the bone. Kurt’s laughing, though, because he’s a child and he loves the pitter patter of the rain, no matter that the water may ruin his clothes. Sebastian, on the other hand, grumbles his way in, sneezing while trying to comb his hair back into some kind of shape.

“Stupid weather,” he mumbles.

He sniffs if only just to prove to the world how much he hates the rain, and the he looks up only to catch Ginette offering Kurt a towel for his damp hair while he peels off his coat and scarf.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he says, “ _Kurt_ gets a towel.”

Not missing a beat, Ginette answers, “Of course, ‘Bastian, we all like him better.” Then, she sticks her tongue at him, and Sebastian answers with the kind of eye-roll that requires his whole head. Before they can continue in this fashion, though, Tom throws a towel that hits Sebastian square in the face, prompting a round of laughter around him.

“Sorry, dude!” Tom yells from his position behind the counter, where he’s busily working away at the coffee machine.

The place is busy, late morning calling people in for a coffee break and for a bit of sweet indulgence. It’s warm inside, too, and the café is at its most charming, not too loud and feeling homey while the rain pours outside. Sebastian contains a sigh, thinking about how for the past two weeks he’s paid just a minimum of attention to anything that isn’t Kurt, including the café and any writing wish in his forgetfulness. He can’t say he regrets it, though, not when his time with Kurt has been limited from the beginning, and when he knows that his love for this place hasn’t diminished one bit.

For these past few days he’s been distracted, though, doing his best to fit any urgent business within the hours Kurt’s been spending at his own job, so as not to cut short their time together. Hunter, Tom, Ginette and Paulette have saved no effort for him, too, even taking on extra shifts if necessary; he’s going to have to get them the biggest present in the universe once he manages to think outside Kurt leaving and the uncertainty of _them._

Tom’s the one to get him out of his reverie, a subtle whisper of _hey_ that manages to be everything but and that makes Sebastian snap back to attention, and to Tom’s bouncy form standing next to him.

“Yes, Tom?” he prompts when Tom says nothing, and just watches him as he unbundles the towel thrown at him and passes it through his soaked hair. Through the soft fabric, he watches as Tom points with both thumbs to a table next to the window, where Hunter’s sitting, shoulders hunched over what looks like an untouched cup of coffee. Next to him, Paulette seems to be murmuring something; God knows why, since Hunter’s French is non-existent.

“He’s been like that since he got here,” Tom tells him.

Sebastian studies Hunter’s defeated posture, the way his shoulders seem to be making an effort to draw closer and closer to his torso, as if trying to make himself smaller. It’s quite a feat and it doesn’t really work, not with Hunter’s broad back and stature, but it’s quite a sign that he’s chosen to look so defeated in a public place rather than go upstairs where no one can see. Sebastian holds the hope that he’s been waiting for them, rather than shutting himself off as he usually does.

A hand wraps itself around his forearm, and Sebastian looks only to see Kurt, still wet and his cheeks still shiny red, staring at Hunter. They both watch as Paulette pets his hair for a second, a soft comforting hand touching his temples before she finally leaves him alone. Hunter looks up at her, and Sebastian thinks he catches the shadow of a smile between his lips. Paulette has a very mother like presence to her, so Sebastian isn’t surprised that she can take care of Hunter even if they can’t understand each other.

Before Sebastian can say anything, Kurt beats him to the punch, asking in whispered French, “ _Que s'est-il passé, Paulette?_ ”

Paulette doesn’t shrug, but her expression clearly says that she doesn’t know. She answers, though, “ _Je ne sais pas, mon cher, mais c’est Sebastian qui doit le demander…_ ” And then she looks at him, stern. “ _Allez, allez,_ ” she prompts, even if she does it with a smile and right before making him bend down so she can kiss his cheek.

Sebastian looks at Kurt’s questioning gaze with half a smile, and offers, “He had his first therapy session today.”

Kurt shapes his mouth into an _oh,_ but before he can utter a sound, Hunter’s voice reaches them with, “Stop talking about me, the place is not that big and I can _hear_ you.”

Kurt smiles at that, just a little bit, and Sebastian would have too if only Kurt hadn’t ushered him in much the same manner Paulette has just done with a, “Well, go on then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Sebastian wonders, mildly panicky; God knows what kind of thing he’ll say that’ll end up with Hunter feeling worse than he looks.

“I’ll bring us some coffee.”

“He _has_ coffee,” Sebastian whines.

“Frozen coffee,” Kurt counters. “Don’t be a baby; I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

“Yeah, I can ruin a friendship in half that time.”

Kurt only rolls his eyes at him, pats his arm softly and sends him on his way as he goes to the counter to get some coffee. Sebastian turns around with a sigh and trudges his way through the few steps that separate him from Hunter’s table. He takes off his own coat and scarf in the process, throwing the wet material carelessly on one of the chairs before sitting down himself. He looks outside before he dares look at Hunter in front of him, studies the patterns of the rain against the window. There’s something beautifully romantic about this whole setting, he thinks as he drums his fingers on the table, the beating of them revealing his own nervousness.

He finally looks at Hunter, and trying to ignore the defeated set of his shoulders and his gaze plastered to the surface of the table, he casually asks, “What’s up?”

Sebastian had thought Hunter would take a while to answer, that he’d make this harder on him. Instead, he snorts even before Sebastian can finish his question, and looks up purposefully catching Sebastian’s gaze. His eyes look sad, or perhaps just tired, but what he says is, “What’s up? Seriously? That’s your opening?”

“Oh, well, excuse me Mr. Eloquent, would you please carefully express what has you in this particular emotional turmoil, or would you like me to just fuck off?” Sebastian snaps.

Hunter twists his features into a scowl, half closing his eyes so his expression is instantly angry. Sebastian groans inwardly, whishes there was a way he could mentally slap himself for his tendency to snap when it comes to Hunter.

Before Hunter can say anything, Sebastian lifts both hands up, showing Hunter his palms in a sign of surrender. “Right, sorry, that came out wrong,” he rushes, trying to back up before a simple greeting turns into an all out war.

Hunter doesn’t say anything, and Sebastian dares taking a look at his face. There’s no change in his expression, so Sebastian gives him a minute, lowering his still raised hands to the table and spreading his fingers there. He breathes in, slowly. He should know better than to snap at Hunter by now, honestly. They both suck at this, and he’s pretty sure they’re going to do so all their lives. Hunter’s here, though, not with his parents or his latest girlfriend but with him, and that has to count for something.

“Hunt,” he says, trying to put his thoughts in order so he can have a normal conversation with his friend, the way people do. “You look… not so good. Maybe you want to talk about it?” It comes out small and unsure, and Sebastian curses his own inability to waddle through his relationships. There’s a reason why it had always felt easier to keep people at bay.

Hunter doesn’t look like he’s going to relent, and the way his scowl makes him look ugly feels to Sebastian like a personal offense. He’s trying here, really trying, and it pisses him off that he never knows how to handle these situations. He looks back towards the counter where Kurt’s happily chatting away with a coffee pouring Ginette, if only to turn away from the shadow of accusation that is Hunter’s anger. Kurt doesn’t look like he’s coming over any time soon, and Sebastian let’s himself feel mildly betrayed for about a second.

He’s biting his lower lip, unconsciously but painfully, when Hunter speaks. Sebastian’s not looking at him, and it takes him a minute to register that the raspy and low voice comes from him.

“I fucking hate fucking therapy,” is what Hunter grunts.

Sebastian does look at him then, and watches his angry face be replaced by hands rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Always brings everything back to the forefront, you know?” he says, and Sebastian lets him continue, if only because the way his tone is filling the words feels like this may be the beginning of a tirade. “It’s like suddenly you’re way fucking worse than you thought, and they always bring up pills, like yeah, sure, please drug me up until I’m so numb I won’t ever have to think again, doctor, that’s so smart, now how about I shove that fancy title up your ass? Like, fuck, really, that’s all you’ve got, more pills? And then, then…” he stops, as if he’s run out of air, but continues fairly quickly. “Daddy issues,” he says. “It’s always daddy issues, of course, and then I’m talking like a madman, getting angry and maybe it is fucking daddy issues or maybe I’m sick just because, who the fuck knows? Not those fucking therapists for sure.” He stops again, abruptly this time, and suddenly his body opens up, his shoulders moving back along with his head, which he lets hang from the back of the chair. “Fuck therapy, Seb, honestly.”

He looks almost relaxed once he’s finished, his angry whispers almost dream like now that his chest is heaving with relaxed, steady breaths. His hands are shaking, though, visibly and irremediably, and Sebastian doesn’t know what to do. He waits. He waits until Hunter moves back up, planting his elbows on the table and hiding his face in his palms.

“I hate therapy,” he says, as if he hadn’t just projected the thought in quite the angry speech.

Sebastian’s been biting his lower lip all this time, just the point of his canine touching the pinkish skin superficially, a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his depth. He wishes Kurt would lend a hand with this, or maybe just hold his through it.

“You don’t have to go to therapy, Hunt,” Sebastian says, soft and raw, while he ponders whether he should make a grab for Hunter’s trembling hand or just stay as still as possible. “Or you could try a different therapist.”

“I have to go,” Hunter says assertively, like it’s a fact. “I’m a fucking mess, can’t you see?”

Sebastian purses his lips, unsure. Rationally, he knows Hunter to be telling the truth, but from a more emotional standpoint, he hates to see him like this. It’s not the first time he’s seen him go through therapy, and he knows that the constant discussion of his issues along with any possible experimentation with treatments that may happen always takes a toll on him.

“I’m sorry,” is the next thing Hunter says, and this time, he moves his hands away from his face so he can look straight at Sebastian. His look is tired and slightly defeated. “I’m sorry I’m angry.”

“Hey, at least this time you didn’t break anything.”

“Haha, funny, Seb, really.” Hunter’s voice feels thin, like it’s too soon to start making light of the situation. Still, he looks at Sebastian with something that makes him feel relieved, as if this is a hitch down the road and they can get through it.

Their eyes stayed locked for a moment, enough that Sebastian notices his own breathing calming down, when he hadn’t even known that it had been coming out harsh, tense. He lets his shoulders drop and looks at Hunter’s still trembling hand, not daring to touch him this time either.

“Shouldn’t you be like, having lots of naked goodbye time with Kurt, anyway?” Hunter asks all of a sudden, drumming his fingers against the table and clearly going for a distraction. “Shouldn’t be dealing with my problems.” The last bit is low and sad, almost an afterthought.

Sebastian shrugs, looks at Kurt wistfully, at the way his hands move when he speaks and the easy smile on his face. He turns back to Hunter, says, “It’s okay, Hunt. You should have lunch with us.”

“God, no _;_ the two of you have been so bipolar these past few days it may screw me up worse, honestly.”

“Bipolar?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Hunter stresses. “You’re in love, and sad, and hurt, and then you just want to get naked; it’s tiring, and I get it, but that’s why the two of you need to get away from society in general until the goodbye party.”

Sebastian scoffs, goes as far as to kick Hunter’s foot under the table. “Screw you, jerk.”

Hunter smiles, and this time it feels almost genuine. “No, you two screw each other and leave me out of it.” Then, and before Sebastian can find the words he needs to answer Hunter’s statement, he says, “I think I’m going to take a walk. A long walk; to like… relax or whatever. I’ll take Mr. Puss.”

“Hunter, it’s pouring outside.” Sebastian points out, touching his hand to the cold glass of the window as if the constant pitter patter sound of the rain wasn't noticeable.

“I’ll take an umbrella; I’ll be fine.”

Hunter stands up before Sebastian can protest, his previously defeated demeanor negated by his spry and fast movements as he walks towards the door. His hands are still trembling, though, and Sebastian can’t tell if he’s twitchy or if that’s just an impression he’s getting. He’s positive he won’t reach him before he leaves the café, intent as he seems on leaving quick and at once, but Kurt intercepts him before he’s out the door.

Kurt reaches out, touches Hunter’s hand to stop his movements. Sebastian looks at their joined hands in fascination, Hunter’s darker skin tone a contrast to Kurt’s paleness. He’s been mulling over whether to grab Hunter’s hand or not through this whole thing, and the fact that Kurt just did, natural and unstoppable, makes him smile.

He walks over to them, and catches Kurt mid-sentence.

“–see you tonight, right?”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hunter answers.

Kurt looks at him for another moment, as if he needs to make sure that Hunter is speaking the truth and not lying just so he can get away. He wonders if they’re squeezing each other’s hands in reassurance, if there’s some silent communication between them that he can’t guess at. There must be, because Hunter gives a small, tight nod and Kurt releases him, lets him get away with going out to the street, no umbrella, no cat, and no promises of return.

Sebastian sighs, and when he sees Kurt’s empty hand still dangling half in the air, he fills it with his own. Kurt looks up at him, and says, “He’s going to catch a cold.”

There’s parent-like worry in his tone and in the way his eyes dart towards the door. Sebastian doesn’t say anything, and instead reaches up with his free hand so he can settle it against Kurt’s cheek, and kisses him. Kurt hums, surprised, but kisses him just the same, setting his hand on his chest, right where his heart is beating.

“What was that for?” Kurt asks, his eyes looking suddenly sleepy and his forehead resting against Sebastian’s temple.

“For being better at human relationships that I can ever hope to be.”

He chuckles, small and quiet, just between them. “Everything ok?”

“Yes, for now, I think,” he says, squeezing the hand of Kurt’s he’s still holding. “Wanna go upstairs and hide?”

Kurt smiles, bright and big, and ends up being the one leading him up the stairs and into the apartment.

* * *

Early afternoon finds them laying in bed, sheets and limbs tangled, Sebastian’s hand resting on Kurt’s naked hip while Kurt’s nimble fingers dance from Sebastian’s hand to his elbow to his chest in an unstoppable, almost ticklish pattern. They’ve been quiet for a while now, and Sebastian feels at peace. He’s always found his apartment inherently peaceful, this small, warm space filled with books, comfortable couches and the intangible memory of family. Right now, breathing slowly, remembering the way his toes had sunk in the fluffy carpet inside his room before he’d successfully tackled Kurt to the bed, it’s almost easy to send invasive thoughts away.

It’s not raining anymore, but the day is still grey outside, making the space they’re sharing even warmer, like some kind of quiet cave just for the two of them. Sebastian chooses to forget all of his worries – Hunter and Kurt’s departure and empty pages ready to be filled with words – and just breathes in the scent of warmth, coffee and sex permeating the room.

It’s still a long while before any one of them moves from their spot. Sebastian enjoys the easy silence, finds himself closing his eyes soporifically, sleep stumbling into him if only because of his stillness. Kurt’s the one to move in the end, climbing atop Sebastian with sluggish movements and fully laying over him, no space between them but for the small one between their faces. He doesn’t say anything and Sebastian just smiles a bit, moving his hands up so he can touch Kurt’s shoulders, caress the strained shape of them as Kurt rests his forearms besides his head. He lets his hands travel around, just the tip of his fingers trickling down Kurt’s back until they can fit themselves to the curve at the small of his back.

Sebastian considers where to take this, wonders whether he wants to slide his hands down, between Kurt’s cheeks, to where he knows he’s still slick, or whether he prefers to just move his face up and find Kurt’s lips with his, kiss him softly and slowly until they can’t take it anymore. He does none, though, and Kurt’s the one to take the opening instead.

“What if you hate me?” Kurt whispers against his mouth, his impossibly blue eyes large and innocent looking from up close. Sebastian frowns at the question, posed with so much gentleness but so strange in its shape.

“What?” he wonders.

Kurt doesn’t answer immediately, instead pulling himself up until he’s settled on Sebastian’s lap, both his legs bent at his sides. He leans against Sebastian though, pressing both dry palms to his chest, the fingers of his right hand stroking where Sebastian’s heart would be.

“What if you hate me?” he repeats, his mouth twisted in a cute little gesture of confusion, but his tone serious in its whispered state. “What if we try this and then you realize that you hate all the little things, that you can’t put up with me beyond a lovely but short affair? What if–What if I hate you?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer, instead giving Kurt the silence and the time he needs to elaborate, to explain to Sebastian what’s really on his mind. Kurt’s eyes start looking around, shifty and awkward, and he wiggles on Sebastian’s lap as if trying to find the most comfortable spot. Sebastian doesn’t stop the sharp, soft moan coming from the back of his throat, and instead looks at Kurt accusingly, because he clearly can’t expect Sebastian’s full intellectual attention is he’s going to be wriggling like that on top of him. Kurt mouths a quiet  _sorry_ , but smiles anyway, small and cheeky. Sebastian smiles back and settles his hands on Kurt’s hips, soothingly caressing circles on the sharp bones with his thumbs.

“I mean…” Kurt starts again. He stops for another beat, and then continues. “I watch Project Runway. Religiously. And let’s face it, you can’t even name half the colors in this room properly, but you have a little book shrine for Ayn Rand and I couldn’t even get through half of  _The Fountainhead._ You have this weirdly obsessive thing about setting tables properly that drives me absolutely mad, but then you get upset when I separate all my food so it doesn't touch on the plate.”

“Right, so we’re different and we have fixations, how is that terrible?”

Kurt purses his lips and looks at him like he’s being purposefully thick. Sebastian’s honestly baffled, though, just waiting for an explanation.

“But it’s the little things, right?” Kurt says. “The little things that grate and that make you yell at a person for using your favorite Peter Pan mug when you obviously hate sharing it. The big things, the scary bits can be terrifying, but the little things are irritating and jarring and constant, and what if you can’t stand it? What if, say, two years from here you find me in your couch, drinking from your mug and cursing at some Project Runway judge when all you want is some peace to reread some book that I can’t stand and you hate me? What if you wonder what the hell you were thinking about when this whole thing started? What if, deep down, there’s no way we can make it work?”

“Kurt, babe–”

“What if I secretly hate it when you call me babe?”

“Well, do you?”

“No.”

A small, childish pout adorns Kurt’s lips after he lets the word go. Sebastian laughs, but stops quickly when he feels Kurt wringing his legs free and moving away. The physical distance is suddenly scary, and Sebastian only breathes properly when instead of walking away Kurt just flops back down on the bed on his side, pressing his cheek to Sebastian’s pillow. Sebastian turns on his own side so he can mirror his pose and looks at him, all the way down from his thighs and up to his eyes. He notices him touching his ring finger in soft, patterned strokes, and reaches out to tangle their fingers together and stop the movement.

“I can’t go through something like that; not with you,” Kurt mumbles.

“We’ve already done the hating each other bit, remember?”

Kurt snorts, but lets Sebastian peck him and then pull his arm around his waist, so they’re laying down close together and in a loose embrace.

“I can’t promise that we won’t hate each other,” Sebastian tells him, “but I promise I’ll never drink from your imaginary Peter Pan mug.”

“Hey, it’s not imaginary. Maggie gave it to me after I played Peter Pan at the old people home production.”

“The old people home production of Peter Pan?”

“Yes.”

“That you starred in?”

“Of course, I’ve been born to play Peter Pan.”

“Yeah, ok, you owe me that story.”

Kurt smiles, laughs quietly right in Sebastian’s face and tightens his grip on his hand. When he quiets down, just after a second, his expression softens and he says, “I hate uncertainty. It’s just… what are you going to do when you’re a famous author going to parties full of _la crème de la crème_ of the literary world and I tell someone important that I hated some deeply philosophical and enlightening novel that everyone else praises? And you _know_ I will say what’s on my mind.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll just tell them that you’re an uncultured American who prefers to read about sparkly vampires, and then I’ll say _but have you seen his ass_?”

Sebastian slaps said ass for emphasis, and Kurt squeaks and laughs and hits him right back all at the same time. The rustling sounds of the sheets accompanies them as they move about the bed, Sebastian surrendering to Kurt’s onslaught in the end and ending up with him on top, just like they’ve been before starting this conversation. Kurt’s eyes look melted blue when they lock on his, and Sebastian wishes he could guess at the thoughts behind them. He can only guess through the sound of his laugh, though, so throaty, so sincere that it almost physically tugs at Sebastian’s skin.

“If I ever become a famous author, I’ll be too snobbish to attend boring parties.”

“Of course you will,” Kurt tells him before sinking down into his mouth, kissing him with parted lips and an eager tongue. Sebastian follows the movement easily, resting both hands at the swell of Kurt’s ass, fingers spread over the soft flesh. He’s sinking deeply into the warm feeling, and getting ready to do something about their half hard cocks when Kurt breaks away just so he can look at him, steady and with suddenly assertive eyes.

“You should write me something,” Kurt says.

Sebastian utters the beginning of a  _wha–_ before Kurt gets up abruptly from the bed, clearly in search of something. Sebastian whines incoherently, dropping back into the suddenly empty bed with a huff, even if the sight of Kurt’s nakedness as he prances around the room isn’t completely unwelcome. By the time Kurt exclaims an overly excited  _aha!_ Sebastian’s busy circling his own cock nimbly, and working himself in slow strokes.

“Really?” Kurt wonders, eyebrow arched. “You couldn’t wait a minute?”

“Well, you have been bouncing around naked and half hard around the room, I just couldn’t resist.”

Kurt sticks his tongue out at him but walks towards the bed anyway and lays down on his front, pressing a kiss to Sebastian’s hip as he does so, and batting his hand away from his own cock, cheerfully ignoring any protests. With that, he shows Sebastian what he’d been looking for all this time: a marker. At Sebastian’s questioning look, he answers:

“Write me something, something beautiful.” He turns over as he instructs this, and presses his fingers to his own hipbone, right where the bone juts out deliciously. “Right here,” he clarifies.

Kurt offers him the marker, and as Sebastian takes it with trembling fingers, he’s positively sure that his mouth must be hanging open. It’s not the strangest of requests nor the kinkiest, but arousal hits him strong and steady, electrifyingly clear in its way down his spine. He thinks he hears himself gasp, but the sound is covered by the rustling of sheets as he moves down and over Kurt’s body, so he finds himself eye level with his hips. He runs his fingers down Kurt’s sides, as if following the course of a river, and stares reverently at the amount of soft, white flesh presented before him. Never before has he had a blank page that looked this enticing.

He wants to say something about how wild and crazy Kurt drives him, but his tongue feels heavy inside his mouth, stuck and incoherent, so he just leans forwards until he can place a wet kiss by Kurt’s navel, his lips flush against suddenly trembling skin. He kisses Kurt’s stomach once, twice, three times in full, open-mouthed kisses, leaving the skin wet with saliva. He blows on the wet skin then, and Kurt half giggles and half whines as he lets one of his hands slide through Sebastian’s hair and down to the back of his neck.

“Sebastian…”

Sebastian doesn’t look up, and instead just uncaps the marker and places the tip to Kurt’s lower belly, right where the wiry hair surrounding his cock begins. He presses his free hand there so he can straighten the skin, and begins tracing small letters on the pale canvas, the marker gliding smoothly and sure. Kurt laughs quietly, murmurs  _tickles._

When Sebastian is finished, he stares down at the black letters spread over Kurt’s skin from his crotch to his hipbone, the simple shape of them and then the meaning behind them. He presses his lips to the last letter, and warmth spreads throughout him, all over him, intimate, comfortable and lush.

“What does it say?” Kurt asks from above him, his fingers playing with the hairs at the back of his neck.

Sebastian traces the letters with his hand, gliding under them as if he needed the help to read, and then vocalizes them openly, in a throaty voice, “You feel like home.”

He looks up when he says this, and halfway through it Kurt’s eyes find his own, soft and lovely and perhaps a little shiny. Neither one of them speaks after. Instead, Kurt pulls him up until he’s covering his whole body and then they’re kissing, quiet and slow but a little desperate. It feels tangible now, the sense of separation, but not nearly as much as the intimacy cradling the room.

For all that their kissing is languid, they don’t move slowly, instead wrapping themselves around each other with strong limbs. Kurt whimpers when Sebastian leaves in search of lube, and as soon as he comes back he surrounds him again, pinning him to his body with arms and legs, his fingers digging at his back and his heels pressing against his calves.

They’ve been in bed for hours now, and Kurt still feels slick from the last time they had sex not so much time ago, so it’s almost no time before Sebastian is pressing back into him again, bending his pelvis until he’s seethed fully inside and Kurt’s face makes him look like there’s no other place he’d rather be.

They go clumsily about it, more ungainly than they’ve ever been, nearly heavy-handed. They’re not letting go of each other, though, not even if a bit of separation between their skin would provide a better angle for their hips to meet. They’re quiet, too, sharing gasps and panted breathes, where usually they moan and talk and sometimes even argue. It feels like goodbye, like a desperate attempt to cling to each other when they know they won’t.

Afterwards, they lay down next to each other, Sebastian on his front and Kurt on his back, almost like pieces of different puzzles. Sebastian wants to say something, feels like his chest is bursting with contradictory feelings, most of which want to ignore whatever rational thought may come from his brain. He says nothing, though, instead closing his eyes when Kurt lays his open palm between his shoulder blades. It’s warm and sweaty, and Sebastian relaxes his body until all he can feel is the light touch of it on his back, as if it is his only connection with reality, the only part of his body truly alive.

Kurt tells him, “You feel like home, too.” And Sebastian can’t help but think that they’re going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

 

Sebastian closes the café that night. He turns the _Open (24 Hours)_ sign around reverently while Ginette fills a table with pastries and drinks for them all. Hunter still hasn’t come back, and it’s still raining, so Sebastian can’t help but look outside as he locks the door, wondering where the hell he can be. He taps his foot nervously against the floor, and only stops when Kurt slides his cold fingers into his hand.

“He’ll be back soon, don’t worry,” he says. Then, he adds, “He’ll have to face my wrath otherwise.”

Sebastian chuckles and follows Kurt away from the door. They sit down at the biggest table of the café, where Tom, Ginette and Paulette fill the conversation easily, jumping from French to English. Time passes much too quickly, and by the time Hunter shows up, they’re falling down a path of nostalgic little stories. Sebastian feels like he’s hearing more about these people tonight than he’s ever done before, and has to wonder if maybe that’s just the effect Kurt has on people.

Hunter knocks on the window pane, rather than the door, and when Sebastian looks out at the sound, what he sees is the saddest little scene ever. Hunter's completely drenched and looking in at the warm, cozy interior with his palms plastered to the window, like some lost soul looking for home. Kurt's the one to get up and open the door, though, quick on his feet while Sebastian was busy contemplating the scene, and pulling Hunter in before he can get any wetter.

"Oh my God, are you insane?" Kurt exclaims the moment Hunter is inside the café, hugging himself for warmth that he won't get while in those wet clothes. "Seriously, are you completely incapable of looking after yourself? Go up and get out of those wet clothes before you catch the worst cold of your life. Honestly, how do you even survive adult life?"

Hunter looks mollified, and Sebastian's positively sure that had he been the one delivering that same speech, he would have gotten an angry quip in return. Kurt has that perfect worried yet angry tone to his voice, though, and Hunter can do nothing but look down and trudge upstairs, his wet shoes and socks making an uncomfortable squelching sound.

"So harsh, babe," Sebastian tells him once Kurt rejoins the rest of the group at the table.

"Yes, well, someone needs to be practical here. The two of you are so prone to overly dramatic gestures that you'll kill yourselves in the process."

"Oh, _we_ are."

Kurt sticks his tongue out at him, and at Sebastian's mock-offended gesture, he pecks his lips right before saying, "Shut up and eat some cake."

Eventually, Hunter comes down, dry and tired looking but forcing half a smile. Sebastian wonders if it's for himself, or maybe just for Kurt.

The party, or whatever this little gathering of theirs can be called, continues in full swing even well after the food is gone. The atmosphere around them is half happy and half nostalgic, and Sebastian notices himself growing quieter and quieter as the time passes. He lets the others talk and listens with only half of his attention while the rest of him focuses on the feeling of Kurt's hand in his own. He wants to memorize him, keep him like this, amused and happy and wistful, surrounded by fantastic people and this little place Sebastian calls his own. He thinks that if he can keep that memory like a permanent photograph inside his mind, then maybe tonight won't feel like such a definitive kind of ending.

The warmth surrounding them, the one that comes from the feeling of family rather than from any kind of heat, starts dissipating the moment Paulette announces that it's time for her to leave. She comes towards Kurt and Sebastian steps back immediately, letting go of Kurt's hand because he doesn't want to hear any goodbye that isn't his own. He stands back, not catching one word of whatever soft whispers Paulette is bestowing. She kisses Kurt's temple before she leaves, and once she's crossed the threshold, Sebastian looks back at Kurt and sees the beginning of the telltale shining of his eyes. He's pretty sure they won't escape this night without a few shed tears.

It's not long before Tom and Ginette start shuffling in their seats as well, ready to make a departure. It's dark outside, probably cold, and it's no wonder that they want to be heading home already. It's almost time for Kurt to leave too, anyway, if he wants to get the last of his packing done and get to the airport on time.

"Right," is what Tom says once both him and Ginette are standing. "I, uh, I got something for you," Tom says sheepishly right before diving behind the counter for a thin, brown package. He touches the back of his head, somewhat ashamed, and offers it to Kurt. "It's silly and kind of cheesy, ok? I just wanted you to have it."

Kurt looks like someone is giving him the jewels of the crown, his smile wide and his eyes big, more surprised looking than ever.

"Thank you, Tom," he answers, soft-voiced, and proceeds to tear away the brown paper. Except, of course, he doesn't tear it but goes the slow way, taking the tape away in small little movements. Sebastian smiles at that, a little sad.

Kurt hasn't even managed to get half the package opened and Tom's already sniffling, the big bundle of feeling that he is nearly exploding. Ginette rolls her eyes but touches the small of his back anyway, soothing.

What the brown paper finally reveals is one of Tom's sketches, of course, perhaps the first he ever did of Kurt, sitting at the counter of the café and looking distracted, his eyes somewhere in the walls, searching for the hidden stories in them. Tom's a really good artist, and the eyes of the Kurt in the picture look bright and full of light, curious and unwary and perfect. Kurt smiles, like he doesn't know how to say thank you to the gift, and Sebastian feels like he might burst from emotion himself.

"That's... Tom,  _thank you._ "

Kurt goes in for a hug immediately, and Tom complies easily, always ready for this kind of physical attention. They're both crying then, and Sebastian thinks he would have started too if only Hunter hadn't chosen that moment to rest a supportive hand on his shoulder. Sebastian breathes better with the weight of it on him, and even if Hunter is the one that needs to be taken care of right now, Sebastian can't help but soak in the affection present in that simple touch.

Ginette leaves with a kiss to Kurt's cheek and a quick _come back soon, we like 'Bastian better when you're here_ and Tom with one last strong hug and a wave in Sebastian's and Hunter's direction. Once they're gone, the door already closed behind them and the cold that has entered the café nearly forgotten, Kurt all but collapses on a chair and puts his face in his hands. Sebastian wants to go to him, desperately wishes he could gather him into his arms and keep him forever, but instead he just lets him have his time, lets him breathe in slowly for a moment until he looks up again, his face free from tears but his eyes red-rimmed and shiny.

"Fuck," Kurt says, and the word seems to be tearing his chest out, coming out harsh and loud to express everything he's feeling. "I don't think I can take anymore."

Not missing a beat, Hunter says, "Yeah, come on, just one more."

He walks towards Kurt like a man with a purpose, leaving Sebastian to stand alone at the counter. He reaches out for Kurt as soon as he's close enough, grabs his hand and hauls him up, pulling even when Kurt seems to be doing his best effort to stay sitting down on his chair.

"No, no, no, no..." Kurt whimpers, a long, constant string that follows his movement until he's tightly wrapped in Hunter's arms. He sounds like a torture victim, tired and scared, and when his face finds Hunter's shoulder, a quiet sob escapes him. He clings to Hunter then, bunching his shirt in tight fists and holding on.

"Better like this, ok? Like a band-aid," Hunter says. Sebastian listens to the way Hunter breathes in and out noisily, and has to suppress a surprised laugh when he says, "Is this ok? I never know what to do when people are crying."

Kurt does laugh, bubbly and small in between his tears, and he moves back so he can look properly at Hunter. "I know basic human interaction escapes you but yeah, this is okay." He smiles, tiny, in that way that always makes Sebastian feel like he's the only thing that matters in the world. "You'll take care of each other, right? And stop being so emotionally incompetent?"

Hunter doesn't give an answer to that, and instead just pulls Kurt back again for another tight hug before stepping back, leaving Kurt standing there alone and wiping tears away from his face.

"Right, so that sucked," Hunter states, sniffing noisily after. "Do you, um, do you wanna say goodbye to Mr. Puss?"

"I think I'm good, Hunter, thank you. You-You say goodbye for me."

"Sure, yes, so I guess I'll... I'll just..." Hunter looks between Kurt and Sebastian for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, not knowing what else to say. Sebastian thinks he'd feel sorry for him if only he wasn't busy feeling Kurt's stare on him like an omen, like he's been chosen for the last goodbye and there's no one else who he can pass his turn to.

"I think I'll leave," Hunter says finally.

Sebastian reacts suddenly, stepping away from the counter where he'd been leaning and taking one step forward. "No, that's okay, just let us..." He doesn't say anything else, instead walking forward to pick Kurt's stuff - his coat, his scarf, and a small bag with a few clothes, including one of Sebastian's t-shirts - and to grab his hand with a strong grip.

He pulls from Kurt until they're walking together towards the door, intent on having his goodbye outside. He watches Kurt wave one last time at Hunter and be waved back, and then steps outside, Kurt quickly following.

The cold is the first thing that hits him, that humid feeling of the night after a storm crawling up his arms under his thin shirt. It helps, though, because he can busy himself with helping Kurt into his coat and scarf, can just look at him as he ties the burgundy piece of fabric around his neck expertly in a complicated kind of knot, his thin fingers brushing Sebastian's as they move together. It's easier than stopping long enough to feel the tightness of his throat or the trembling of his hands.

They do stop, eventually. They look at each other, the cold turning their breaths into white fog and their stillness a sign of awkwardness, of painful inevitability. It lasts a beat too long, one where Sebastian's heart is beating so hard inside his chest that he fancies he can hear it, pounding away. Then, they're suddenly at each other, violently grasping at each other's clothes and kissing, their lips a tangled, uncoordinated mesh, desperate in between heavy breaths. At least until they find their footing, stopping themselves, the pervading anger of an unwanted goodbye turning into a softer touch. It might be surrender, Sebastian thinks, perhaps even resignation. He kisses Kurt softly anyway, substituting the first initial animal aggression for nothing but wandering, silk like lips sweetly entangled. When they break apart, they're both breathing harshly.

Sebastian, rubbing the back of Kurt's neck affectionately and in quick strokes, says, "I feel so fucking inadequate; I don't know how to do this."

"You think I'm any better?" Kurt asks, his voice rough and strained, like it's an effort to get the words out. "God," he murmurs, and at that he steps back, rubbing the corner of his eyes with his sleeve. "I wish this wasn't so melodramatic."

Sebastian chuckles, a tired sort of sound ripping itself out from somewhere in his chest. It bubbles up, unstoppable, and it's immediately followed by a gurgly, quiet sob. He's not crying, there are no full tears falling down his face, but his eyes feel full and wet, inundated and itchy, and he knows he'll be soon.

"I think-" he starts, stops when talking hurts his throat, pulls at it painfully. "I think things would have been easier for me if you hadn't walked into the café that night."

"Shut up, Smythe, you love me and you would never choose not to meet me again."

Sebastian doesn't have time to laugh before Kurt's reaching for him again, pulling him against his body with arms around his shoulders and waist, a full, tight, warm embrace. Kurt's arms around him feel grounding, steady, like a promise, and Sebastian takes whatever solace he can from them.

"Okay," Kurt says, his voice muffled by the collar of Sebastian's shirt, but so close to his ear that Sebastian has no problem understanding him. "Okay," he repeats. "I'm going to keep hugging you, and then I'm going to step away, tell you that I love you and walk away, okay? And you-you're going to-to take care of Hunter and don't give up on yourself and then we'll figure this out, right? We will just... figure this out."

Sebastian nods vigorously, trying to convey that yes, of course, that's exactly what they're going to do. Still, before they break away, he buries his face in the fabric of Kurt's scarf, hides himself from the world, breathes in slowly and tries to keep as much from this as he possibly can. Whatever happens in the future, at least he'll always have the knowledge that there was a moment in time in which nothing felt more important than loving and being loved by Kurt Hummel.

They break apart, slowly and just leaving the smallest of spaces between them, only enough so that Kurt can rest his forehead against Sebastian's and look him in the eye. His eyes are puffy and red but still gorgeous, and when he smiles, Sebastian almost forgets about everything.

"I love you," Kurt says, steady and strong.

"I love you, too," Sebastian offers to the small space between them.

Then, Kurt steps away, takes two, three steps back, and he's no longer touching Sebastian. He smiles, squares his shoulders and takes his small bag from where it has been left on the floor and looks back at Sebastian.

Sebastian doesn't want to it feel definitive, like so much more than a goodbye, so he says, "Call me as soon as your plane lands, ok? You'll probably need to bitch about having to share an enclosed space with your cast mates."

Kurt nods, a small nod, and without another word, starts walking away. His steps echo in the nearly empty street, and the light of a streetlamp casts an eerie glow on his figure. It's poetic, go figure, and Sebastian wishes he could run after him and promise him the world. Too bad Kurt wouldn't want a world that he hasn't conquered himself.

He stays outside for a while longer, freezing to death but lighting a cigarette between trembling fingers. It's been a while, and he enjoys the way the smoke fills him up, helps him concentrate on nothing but the feel of it. He considers taking off, walking around for a bit in the cold night, like some tragic figure, but in the end, the warmth of the café pulls him in, calling to him like a beacon.

He walks inside quickly, without a second thought, and what welcomes him is warm, low light, the smell of coffee and sweets and the sight of a million memories gathered around the walls. Hunter, too, sitting on a barstool and mindlessly tapping his fingers against the counter. He coughs to make his presence known, and Hunter turns around in his chair, and after taking one long look at him, opens up his arms in invitation.

"I don't need a hug," Sebastian deadpans immediately.

Hunter snorts. "Yeah, you do."

Sebastian feels the way his face contorts in an ugly expression, almost as if the new tears that want to crawl up to his eyes are pushing their way out, unstoppable. He says, "I just-I just have all of these... _feelings._ I feel disgusting."

The sob that follows is quiet, understated, but his steps as he moves towards Hunter's still outstretched arms aren't. He dives for the embrace unabashedly, in a way him and Hunter almost never do, and clings, seeking out comfort.

"Fuck, sorry, it's not like you're ok or anything, but-"

"We'll take one crisis at a time," Hunter tells him, his hug a little awkward but warm nonetheless. "We'll be okay, you and me."

" _Su-ure_ , when haven't we?"

Hunter snorts, and when his shoulders shake with the sound Sebastian can't help but smile. "Shut up, Seb."


	16. Chapter 16

****

 

Sebastian allows himself exactly twenty-four hours to commiserate and wallow in self-pity. The day after Kurt leaves, he gets up from his bed only to make himself the unhealthiest breakfast he can think of, and once he’s done eating, he trudges towards the couch, drops all his weight on it carelessly and buries himself under a couple of nice, thick blankets. He sighs, right against the leather of the couch, and just when he’s starting to consider whether mating with the couch is an actual valid choice in life, a sudden weight drops on him. He yelps, surprised, and only manages to hiss when he catches Mr. Puss scratching his nails on his blanket carelessly before settling all of its weight somewhere on Sebastian’s stomach.

“Fucking cat from hell,” he mumbles, scowling. He stops after a second, when he realizes that he’s hiding away under a blanket and swearing at a cat. He’s not exactly sure why his life has turned in this direction. The cat looks at him, and Sebastian swears that it’s judging him.

“Fine, fine,” he says, letting one arm escape from its wooly prison and burying his fingers in the cat’s soft fur, petting slowly. Mr. Puss purrs, seemingly content as it closes its eyes, and Sebastian just keeps up the motion, trying to tell himself that he doesn’t appreciate the warm weight of it on top of him, or the low murmur of its purr.

Sleep is slowly trying to claim him when Hunter comes back from his morning run, erupting into the room with heavy steps and wheezing breaths. Sebastian half opens his eyes, annoyed, and catches sight of Hunter’s legs as he moves about the room, always fast, always impatient. Hunter steps away from his field of vision, and Sebastian gives up on following his figure with his eyes and instead turns his face to the side, and looks at the window outside. The grey light of mid-morning sweeps inside through the old glass, casting the illusion of a bright shadow against the window seat, and Sebastian figures that it’s sad and beautiful enough to match his romantic hero demeanor. His dramatic musings get interrupted when Hunter plunks down on the second couch, the one with the single seat that invariably throws a cloud of dust into the room whenever someone uses it.

“So, is that what you’re gonna do from now on? ‘Cause if you decide to live in the couch, I’m not feeding you,” Hunter says.

Sebastian listens as a bottle of water is opened, and stops himself from craning his neck just so he can look at Hunter, instead choosing to keep his eyes focused on the big panes of the window and the view outside. “Fuck you,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Seb, come on.”

“One day,” he says, lifting one finger up as if to further prove his point. “I get one day to feel like the betrayed hero of a harlequin novel, ok? I’m dashing enough, and I’m going through too much emotional turmoil to pass up the opportunity.”

Hunter doesn’t answer, but Sebastian swears he can physically feel him rolling his eyes in his direction. He doesn’t care, though, not when he’s feeling entitled to this act of pouting misery; he’ll call himself pathetic tomorrow, but for now this feels just like the thing to do. When Hunter doesn’t say anything, Sebastian closes his eyes and goes back to softly carding his fingers through Mr. Puss’ fur. He’s two seconds in and already thinking about settling into a nice, long sleepy morning when something gets thrown his way, barely missing his face and landing on his chest. He  _oofs,_ whiny and offended, and opens his eyes to find a worn book in front of him, and Hunter, the obvious perpetrator of the flying object maneuver, standing next to him.

“Read that, and don’t even try to deny that it isn’t your comfort book.”

Sebastian picks up the soft cover book, feeling the upturned pages and rough edges with his fingers, marking the tome as well-read. He can’t help a smile when he reads  _Anne of Green Gables_ on the nearly destroyed cover, and has to bite his tongue not to make the nostalgic confession of  _it was my mom’s favorite, she used to read it to me all the time._ Instead, he sits up a little, and after running his thumb over the edge of the pages, he opens it up, and settles in to read. He hopes Hunter realizes his silence is nothing more than a big thank you.

It seems it is, when Hunter leaves the room mumbling, “I’m taking a shower. You get one day to be pathetic, Seb, tomorrow you’re coming out with me for a run.”

 

* * *

 

Half a book and another unhealthy meal later, Sebastian’s back in his room, covered in sheets that smell like Kurt and glossing over words that aren’t making that much sense anymore. In between the dreary climate and the fact that he’s gone from mattress to couch back to mattress he can do nothing but let himself be filled with a percolating sense of laziness. Everything’s a bit hazy, honestly, and he doesn’t know if he’s just tired or if he’s letting himself drift away just so he doesn’t have to do any thinking.

 _Anne of Green Gables_ has always been a good distraction, anyway. Dad had never really been a fan of the way mom used to read books to him almost constantly, or of the way Sebastian had begun to pick them up himself once he knew how to read. He’s a very practical man, the way Sebastian remembers him, and fiction had always felt like a waste of time to him; no wonder he’d seemed to give up on Sebastian when he’d said that if he couldn’t be a dancer, then he’d like to study Literature. The expression in his father’s face had been enough to make him get a law degree instead, one that he’d never actually used, though.

Sebastian sighs as he drops the book, trying to shake his head away from those thoughts. He hasn’t spoken to his dad in months, and he’s not particularly keen on remembering his disappointed faces. The book is supposed to be a nice memory of his mom, anyway.

“This is all way too fucking lame,” he intones to the room at large. When the silence doesn’t answer back, he looks at Mr. Puss, contentedly curled on the mattress and licking one of its paws. “What do you think?”

The cat doesn’t even look up at him, and Sebastian scowls. He should really get out if this bed and do something useful with the rest of his afternoon, but just the idea of facing the world outside of his apartment makes his tiredness feel like a physical presence pulling him back into the mattress.  _Tomorrow_ , he thinks,  _tomorrow I’ll go back to being a person._ As soon as the thought goes through his head, though, he starts feeling restless. Sebastian’s never been good at staying still, actually, which was exactly why his mom put him in dance lessons in the first place, and why the idea of a owning a place that never closed had been so appealing. It must mean something, then, that he’d only ever closed the café because of Kurt, and that he’d only seemed to be able to relax and just  _stop_ when being around him.

It’s while thinking this that Sebastian gets out of the bed, and he doesn’t even stop his movement to consider the irony of moving when thinking about staying still. He doesn’t go far, though, not bothering to find his laptop and instead picking up and old notebook and an uncapped pen from his desk. He sits down, skips through pages full of scribble and finds a blank page where he can press the tip of his pen, and starts writing.

_It’s strange, that the whole world had felt like it was starting to move only when I chose to stay still. I’d been moving so fast for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to enjoy a single moment, to laze around time with nothing to do other than_ be.  _Inertia had been pulling me around for so long, yanking me from place to place, making me forget everything – that mom was dead, that I hadn’t spoken to my best friend in ages, that the people around me were worth it, that maybe the life I had chosen for myself wasn’t what I wanted – that when he made me stop and look, the only choice I had that wasn’t hating him for it was falling in love._

_~~I miss you and it’s only been a few hours and fuck, fuck, fuck, this sucks a lot and not in the fun way.~~ _

_That should have been reason enough, perhaps, to tell you his story, but since I couldn’t presume to know his life, or even his mind or his heart – even if I believe he’d given me a small part – and since literature was the highest form of glorified masturbation, the story I must tell, was my own. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t start with him, or even myself. It should have started with my mother, perhaps, but instead, it did with Hunter._

_Hunter Clarington was the only friend I ever had. ~~And fuck if I know why, and fuck him for showing me that I could care for another human being and maybe if I had met him before I met Kurt I wouldn’t have done half the stupid shit I did back in high school.~~_

Sebastian bites his lower lip thoughtfully, looking at his untidy writing on the already yellowed page. He feels like laughing, but he doesn’t. His fingers feel twitchy, perhaps unused to the pen between them rather than the keyboard under them, perhaps simply nervous. He looks back at the bed for a minute, and stares at the rumpled sheets and the purring ball of fur resting between them. Then, he turns back towards the paper, and giving into his trembling fingers, presses the pen back onto the page.

 

* * *

 

When Sebastian wakes up again, it’s with a hard surface under his face, a sharp pain somewhere on his lower back and Hunter shaking his shoulder and calling his name. He blinks his eyes open, and as his eyes adjust to the light inside the room, he smacks his lips trying to wet his drying mouth.

“What?” he rasps, looking at Hunter as if he can’t quite place him.

He rolls his eyes at him, of course, and presses his hands to his hips in that way that means Sebastian is going to get scolded. Sebastian hates getting scolded. Hunter doesn’t say a word, though, and it seems to Sebastian that his expression softens as he silently prods him to get up from his chair. Sebastian complies, still half asleep and starting to notice that it’s dark outside and that the uncomfortable light comes from his desk lamp, which Hunter must have turned on. He must have fallen asleep at his desk, the way he used to do back when he started running the café and still didn’t know how to organize his time, or when he’d been convinced that he didn’t need any employees to run the thing.

“Go to bed, Seb.”

Sebastian blinks at Hunter, only now realizing that he’s standing in the middle of the room and looking at his desk like it’s an alien thing. He rubs his eyes in a weak attempt at waking his brain up, and only manages to make them watery with tiredness.

“Maybe I should go down to the café,” he whispers, more to the room at large than at Hunter. His voice is still raspy, so he coughs before he looks longingly at the empty glass of water resting on his nightstand.

“Don’t be an idiot, you can barely stand as it is,” Hunter tells him. When Sebastian looks at him, Hunter’s fidgeting in his spot, and when he doesn’t stop looking, he moves away and towards the door of the bedroom. “Stay there, I’ll get you some water,” he says.

Sebastian smiles as Hunter leaves, because he knows how much of a mother hen he can be and how much he hates recognizing it. When he comes back with a glass of water, Sebastian chooses not to tease him about it and simply takes a long gulp before walking the couple of steps that separate him from his bed and dropping down on the soft mattress. How the hell can he be so tired when he’s been lazing around for hours?

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Almost two,” Hunter says. Then, as if afraid of Sebastian’s reaction, “I closed up, I hope you don’t mind. Ginette said she’ll open up early tomorrow, anyway. Everybody needed some sleep.”

Sebastian nods, looking down at the glass of water still in his grasp. That makes it two nights in a row that the café stays closed. The thought is a little scary, but maybe he’s not the only one who needs a day to get back together, and he can’t be so selfish that he’ll ask someone to stay. He could go downstairs himself, of course, but he’s positively sure that he’ll have to bodily fight Hunter to do so. It seems like too much of an effort after the afternoon he’s spent glued to his notebook.

“I’ll go to bed,” he says. “We’ll get back into fighting shape tomorrow; we need to do inventory, and I’ve been cancelling so many meetings that I’ll need to reschedule, and–”

“You’re coming out with me for a nice morning run.”

“And not running, running is not a thing for me.”

Hunter glares, just for a second, and then twists his mouth into a half smile. “Come on, without any wild sex to keep yourself in shape you’re going to need some exercise. What if Kurt comes back and you’re all fat from too much pie and too little running?”

Sebastian gropes behind him for a pillow, and as soon as he finds one, he throws it halfheartedly at Hunter, who catches it easily and laughs after sticking his tongue out at him.

“Fuck you, Clarington, I’m naturally gorgeous.”

Hunter chuckles and then scoffs, and right after throwing the pillow back, he points a finger at Sebastian in a way that reminds him of the time they met back at Dalton, when Hunter had informed him about the ways he was going to use to wipe The Warblers into shape.

“You, me, a nice morning run,” Hunter threatens. “I’ll wake you up at six am sharp.”

Sebastian snorts. “You can _try.”_

“Six am sharp!” Hunter exclaims, leaving the room with an aggressively pointed finger and a crazily determined expression on his face.

Sebastian just chuckles, sticking his tongue out at his retreating figure. Hunter closes the door behind him, and as soon as he does, Sebastian stands up and goes back to his desk. He reaches out for the notebook he’d fallen asleep on, touching the pages idly. He runs a slow finger down the written words, watches them turn more and more incomprehensible until the ink runs at the bottom of the page, probably marking the moment sleep conquered him. He feels his mouth curl into an entranced small smile and thinks back to the napkin hanging from the walls of the café with a few words on it and to whatever it was he wrote in his laptop that day he had that fight with Kurt. Then, of course, his thoughts can’t help but follow that thread and end up in the smooth skin of Kurt’s hipbone, where he’d traced long, beautiful letters at his request. He sighs, and after drumming his fingers against the hard surface of the desk, he goes back to bed, leaving the notebook open as if the words could somehow find a way of filtering themselves into his dreams.

When he climbs under the covers, he discovers Mr. Puss still there, purring away in its sleep. He scowls, but instead of throwing the little beast away, just lets it be and closes his eyes, right after a soft warning of _but just for tonight, demon spawn._

* * *

 

“Oh God, oh fuck, Hunter we need to stop, I need to stop, I–”

Sebastian gives up on talking and instead stops running and leans forward, resting his hands on his knees as if his tired legs supporting his whole weight is somehow a better option than standing up. His breathing is ragged, his chest is heaving up and down much too quickly, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost his voice.

“You’re not supposed to stop like that, dude, you’re supposed to bring your pulsations down slowly,” Hunter informs him, stopping in front of him but running on his spot. Gooddamn Hunter.

Sebastian vaguely considers looking up just so he can glare at him, but finds himself unable to pull the effort from himself, and instead just focuses on Hunter’s feet jumping up and down on the pavement. He concentrates on his breathing, in and out slowly, and on the way the pounding in his head seems to be diminishing. When he feels mildly like a person again, he mumbles  _bench, need a bench._ He finds one not too far behind him and pulls his tired legs into a slow walk right before collapsing on the brown wood of the bench.

“Oh, thank God,” he says, relief flooding his voice. His feet are pulsating inside his trainers, his breathing is still labored and the cold of the lightless morning is suddenly starting to seep into his sweaty limbs, but at least he’s sitting down.

“You’re really out of shape,” Hunter accuses. He’s followed him to the bench, but is still moving, up and down in his quick, still jog.

This time, Sebastian does glare. “You’re the fucking Hitler of exercise; I’m not giving into your pestering ever again.”

“But you started already!” Hunter whines. “Now we start building your strength and designing a proper training sche–”

“Shut up, psycho. And sit down already, you’re making me dizzy.”

Hunter gives him a challenging look, raised eyebrow and everything, but when Sebastian tiredly closes his eyes and leans his head back he seems to give up, and soon enough Sebastian can feel him sitting down next to him. He’d definitely forgotten how extreme Hunter could be with his exercise, and he’s having weird flashbacks to that time back at Dalton when he’d actually made all the Warblers run laps around the school for what his paranoid head had deemed laziness. He’d almost made Jeff cry.

“I think I may have repressed your dictatorial tendencies, and now it’s all coming back,” he informs him.

“Oh, please, tell me you don’t feel better now with your muscles all tired and stretched.”

Sebastian opens his eyes as he turns his head towards Hunter, the back of his neck now resting comfortably against the edge of the bench. “No, I don’t,” he deadpans.

Hunter huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and nearly pouting in a way that makes him look about five. Sebastian chuckles, because he looks so not tired that he kind of wants to punch him, but he can’t resist his stupid affronted expression. He never could, not even when they’d first met. Jeff had actually been the one to joke that Hunter had found him at his most vulnerable, right after the fuckfest that was junior year and when Sebastian had been trying his best at being agreeable. He'd speculated that that was exactly why he’d let Hunter in the way he had. Sebastian likes to think that he’d only been trying to get along with his new roommate for the year, who also happened to be the new Warblers captain. Whether one or the other was true, they were here, many years later, holding onto the threads of a friendship that Sebastian had thought finished.

Sebastian shakes his head, trying to dispel the sudden impulse of hugging Hunter. In between Kurt leaving and his sudden writing spell, he’s so full of overflowing feelings that he’s starting to scare himself. He guesses that if he wants his writing to go somewhere he’s going to have to open up and be honest with himself in that way that he hates, but that doesn’t mean that he’s just going to go around randomly hugging people all the time. They already have Tom for that, after all.

They remain silent for a long while, and Sebastian finds it comforting, because they’ve always been good at silence. Back in high school they’d spent long afternoons in their shared room without exchanging more than a grunt. Kurt would be appalled, of course, but then again, he could be an incredible chatterbox once he was comfortable. Fuck, Sebastian misses him. Two days, and the loss is already a constricted not of anxiousness on his chest, and the uncertainty a constant stab somewhere on the back of his head.

“I should’ve gotten drunk,” he says suddenly, letting the non-sequitur float around in the cold morning. “Why didn’t I get drunk and cry and sing  _All By Myself_ or something equally pathetic?”

“Because you decided to lie down and read _Anne of Green Gables;_ don’t worry, Seb, I’m pretty sure it counts as _equally pathetic._ ”

“Don’t mock my grief,” Sebastian counters, making a weak effort at pinching Hunter’s arm as punishment for the snide distraction in his tone of voice. “I was playing the crushed romantic figure, left behind by my cruel lover.”

Hunter half scoffs and half chuckles, the strange mix sudden and pleasant in the way it makes his shoulders shake and his expression take about a decade away from his face. Sebastian smiles himself, and when he sees an opening, goes in for that pinch.

“Brat,” Hunter scolds under his breath, rubbing his arm and making a show of sticking his tongue out at him. “You fail as an adult.”

“Excuse you, I’m a proud business owner, I do adult better than anyone else I know. Including you, asshole.”

“Now you sound like my therapist.”

Hunter’s statement rests between them, and Sebastian wonders for a second if it’s some kind of test to see how he’ll react to Hunter mentioning therapy voluntarily. He’s certainly managed to avoid the issue entirely for the past couple of days, if only because everyone’s been too preoccupied with Kurt’s departure to delve deeply into the subject. Sebastian waits, and does so in the hopeful assumption that silence is the best way to pass this particular trial. Give Hunter space, time, a moment to gather his thoughts if what he wants is to share them. He won’t push if Hunter backs down, but he can remain hopeful while the silence follows his opening statement.

Sebastian feigns non-chalance, as if the small sentence hadn’t felt like the beginning of something else. He closes his eyes again, and that’s not even for Hunter. They’re not crusty and gummy the way they were this morning when Hunter popped into his room with entirely too much energy to bring him along in his morning run, but they’re definitely still feeling the residues of sleep. Next to him, Hunter takes the kind of big breath that feels like the start of a hard task, and soon enough, he starts speaking, his voice lower and rougher than it'd been before.

"I'm changing therapists, I think," is the first thing he says. Sebastian takes a peek at him and sees him looking down at suddenly nervous thumbs. He doesn't look defeated, not exactly, but he does look weary, as if there are only so many discussions he can have in his life about these subjects.

"Changing?" Sebastian prods when Hunter doesn't say anything else.

Hunter turns to him while nodding, and Sebastian has a minute to wonder about the kind of picture they paint; two men in running gear, resting on a bench on a cold winter morning, looking at each other with troubled eyes. He thinks it's something Tom would like to paint. Hunter shrugs and then leans back against the bench in much the same way Sebastian's doing, letting his neck rest against the edge and his head hang a little. With Hunter like that, they're both looking up now, the clear light blue of the morning shining in their retinas. For some reason, Sebastian breathes better.

"I hated that guy I went to, and I think maybe it's because dad recommended him or something," Hunter says. "I think it made me angry, and then he was all  _let's find the root of that anger, Mr. Clarington,_ " this he says in a mock French accent, and Sebastian chuckles, because even in the middle of a rant, Hunter can't help but be amusing. "That's such a therapist thing to say, too, like, finding the roots of emotions. What's so bad about being angry, anyway? Sometimes you want to feel that way, fuck any goddamned roots; I mean, come on, I must have some reasons in life to be angry, anyway, and exploring the roots or whatever it's not going to make me feel better."

"So you're angry, but you want to be angry?"

"I don't _want_ to be angry," Hunter counters immediately, throwing an arm out as if he could expand the sentiment behind his words beyond his own physical being. He sighs, dropping his arm down to his lap, and when he speaks, he does it softly. "All I'm saying is that it's alright if I am. Anyway," he says quickly, as if he wants to erase his last confession with nothing but fast words. "Paulette recommended this girl she knows, and I'm calling today for an appointment."

"Paulette?" Sebastian wonders. "Who doesn't understand you because she doesn't speak your language? She recommended someone?"

"We have our ways of communicating, ok?" Hunter counters. "Besides, she's like the cool aunt I never had and she likes me."

"Probably _because_ she can't understand you."

"Jerk," Hunter tells him dispassionately, as if he can't even bother with him anymore.

Sebastian scoffs, but shrugs as if he couldn't care any less. He does care, of course, and he's glad that it's the people around him that are making Hunter feel better. Considering he spent a long period of time being nothing more than an asshole to his employees, it's almost bizarre that they've become a small support system around him.

"Whatever works for you, Hunt," is what he says next. "And I'll... be here for you and all that mushy shit I'm supposed to be saying."

"That was so touching, bro."

"Shut up, you know what I'm saying, right? I don't need to _actually_ say it, do I?" Sebastian gives Hunter his most pained expression, hoping that that's enough to deter him from forcing a speech on the bonds of friendship out of him. It's bad enough that he spent a full afternoon writing about it, he doesn't think he can bear having to tell him that all he wants is to be the best friend ever, no matter what.

Hunter laughs right in his face, a happy cackle that makes the contour of his eyes crinkle. "I should make you say it, just to see you suffer, but I'll go easy on you, just because of your actual emotional turmoil, or whatever," he says, patting Sebastian's shoulder as he begins to stand up from the bench. "Let's go back, I promised Ginette that you'd be back to work this morning, and I don't want to awaken her wrath; she looks scary."

Sebastian smiles as he stands up himself, groaning when his leg muscles complain at the movement. Hunter mocks his whining, and Sebastian happily gives him the finger as they start walking back home. The morning has awoken particularly cold, and their sweaty clothes now feel uncomfortable and wet against their skin, but Sebastian doesn't think he has the energy to keep running, so they just walk at a hasty pace, trying to ignore the freezing breeze. Sebastian should have taken a sweater with him, and he smiles thinking that Kurt would have been on his case for forgetting something as basic as that.

"I've been thinking," Hunter starts after they've walked a few paces, "that I need some kind of project, too. I'm crawling up the walls here, and I'm gonna need some kind of job anyway if I want to stay here."

Sebastian shrugs as he puts his hands inside his pockets, opening and closing them into fists just so that they won't feel so frozen. "I'm sure you can find something."

"Did you think about what I told you? About buying the local next door and remodeling the café?"

There's genuine curiosity in Hunter's voice, so Sebastian can't help but answer with an uneasy smile. He can admit that the thought has crept up at times, but never as something entirely serious, or even doable.

"I haven't really," he confesses. "There was Kurt and then... there was also Kurt and I haven't been thinking beyond him lately, honestly." He huffs, as if annoyed with himself. "Fuck, I am so the heroine of a harlequin novel, aren't I? I mean, I even forgot about the café; thank God it almost runs itself. I mean, I need to do inventory, and there's so many appointments I've been putting off and-"

"And you're avoiding the subject, Scarlet O'Hara."

"I will tell you this, Clarington, Scarlet O'Hara was a great businesswoman. That is a comparison I don't actually mind."

Hunter huffs, but can't help an obvious chuckle. "Fine, if you try to make yourself a dress out of your curtains, I'll start worrying," he deadpans. He leaves a second of breathing space, and says, "I meant it, you know? About the café."

Sebastian shrugs, looking forward at the street before him, as if he could see the little place from where he's standing. He can't, but he can most certainly imagine it, the smell of coffee and the way his grandpa would greet him whenever he visited, the years he spent living in Paris before going back to America, the way mom had smiled when he'd decided to reopen it. Back then, he'd swore he would keep it just as it was, full of his grandpa's yellowing papers hanging from the walls and of warm memories of what his family had been. At first, he remembers resisting the smallest of changes, and even feeling that hiring people to work for him was a sort of betrayal. Grandpa had had people with him back then of course, so he'd conceded in the end, once he'd realized there was no possible way he could do it all by himself.

Paulette had been the first one, closely followed by Ginette. Paulette had won him over with warmth and a stern attitude, and Ginette with nothing but a cheeky, sharp tongue and a no-nonsense attitude. Tom had been the last one, and his trick had been nothing other than perseverance and too much enthusiasm about a little hole in the wall that he'd called _romantic, like out of a novel, dude._

Even so, hiring people could easily be seen as nothing but practical measures. Doubling the size of it, though, is a completely different thing. It would mean leaving memories behind, making the place something that belongs completely to him and not to the family that's no longer around. He wonders if that's something he wants to do, or if it would feel like a betrayal of his past. Change, he thinks, is not something that comes easy to him, but it's not something necessarily bad, either.

"Hunt, I need some time," he says, breathing out the words. "I promise to really think about it, and to even crunch the numbers, but-"

"I know, I know, as long as you're thinking about it," Hunter interrupts. "Let me paint a picture for you, ok? Before you decide against it."

Sebastian arches an eyebrow, choosing not to comment on Hunter's assumption that he won't go for it, and instead watches him turn around and walk backwards, throwing his arms around as if to paint an actual picture.

"You double the space, so you get some more tables in, and you can have some more counter space, so Ginette won't complain that you're keeping them in inhuman conditions." Sebastian huffs and Hunter smiles, and then continues with, "You keep the whole mismatched, quirky feeling, but you get more walls, Seb. Walls for  _you._ Not just some little place that happened to be left free by your grandpa, but whole blank walls for like, Tom's paintings, Paulette's and Ginette's photographs, snippets of your stories, the program from Kurt's play, those pictures of your mom that you love and-and-and the pictures of the many babies you and Kurt are going to raise together."

Sebastian smiles, wistfully, and pictures it for a minute. As far as romantic notions go, Hunter's not doing so bad.

"You don't get any pictures?" he wonders, though.

Hunter smiles, actually shy, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously as he turns back around to walk next to Sebastian. "Didn't wanna presume."

"You can have a place in my imaginary wall, jerk," he counters.

Hunter gives him a brilliant smile, and when they're both walking inside the café some time later, rubbing their hands together to bring them back to life with the warmth inside the place, Sebastian thinks that maybe, after all, change might just be what he's been needing all this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the story feels too slow, but... um, it's supposed to? At least the way this universe works in my head.
> 
> Anyway, leaving for vacation almost as I post this. Have fun while I'm gone, everyone, and lots of hugs!!


	17. Chapter 17

Sebastian’s lying half-asleep in bed when the phone starts ringing, and his body reacts as if started by a spring, jumping up and searching for the origin of the noise mindlessly, even while trying to rub sleep away from his eyes. It takes him two failed attempts at finding something between his rumpled bed sheets to realize that he should be looking for his computer rather than for his phone, since the ringing sound is coming from Skype. The computer is somewhere within his vicinity, the screen too shiny for his barely open eyes, and Sebastian stays an undetermined amount of seconds staring at it, dumbfounded. When he finally reacts, he taps the keyboard to receive the call, and the grainy image of Kurt appears before him. He smiles, a little dopey, and mumbles a raspy _hey_ while rubbing sleep away from his eyes absentmindedly.

“Oh, you were sleeping!” Kurt’s voice exclaims through his speakers. “I should call later.”

“What? No, I’m good, I’m okay,” Sebastian assures, coughing the scratchiness away from his voice.

He catches Kurt giving him a raised eyebrow and a skeptical expression, and takes a minute to try to comb his hair into some sort of order while looking around himself. His bed is covered in pens and papers and his laptop is resting dangerously close to the edge. It’s the way he’s been falling asleep lately, with either numbers for the café or words for his notebook surrounding him.

“I’m good,” he repeats, this time going for a smile directed at his screen.

“You have blue on your cheek,” Kurt says.

Sebastian swipes his thumb over his cheek and it indeed comes away covered in the runny blue ink from his pen. “Shut up,” he groans. “Don’t mock my artistic endeavors.”

Kurt does laugh though, all the way through Sebastian’s act of being deeply offended, and even if the picture is grainy and he’s too many miles away, he’s still the same Kurt that left Paris only three weeks ago. Sebastian’s already gotten sort of used to the bad picture and the odd hours, even if in some aspects they feel like torture.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says eventually. “I finally got a second to myself and I thought you’d be at the café; didn’t wanna wake you up.”

Sebastian shrugs, and then lies down on his stomach so he can be at eye level with the screen of the computer. It’s not the most comfortable position ever, but he feels closer to Kurt like this. “It’s fine,” he says. “You’re still not being left alone?”

As if on cue, several screams come from the background of Kurt’s place, the one Sebastian has already learned to recognize. Kurt cringes, throwing a look behind him at the partition that separates his bedroom from the rest of the apartment, as if he could make whoever is behind it disappear with one single glare. Without looking back at Sebastian, and raising his voice above the noise, he exclaims:

“No, they never leave me alone! I haven’t been alone for the past three weeks!”

An unknown voice reaches Sebastian’s ears from behind the partition, stating, “We love you too, sweetheart!”

“Ugh, they just _don’t know_ how to take a hint,” Kurt grumbles, looking back at the screen with annoyance written all over his face. Sebastian would mock him if only he didn’t look absolutely miserable, and if only his friends hadn’t been the exact reason why they haven’t had a proper talk these past few weeks. They seem to always be there, filling up Kurt’s free time and dragging him out and about so they can make up for lost time, as if Kurt had been away for years. It doesn’t bode well for him if he has to fight against so much attention, and it kind of pisses him off, truth be told.

"I just want to spend a nice evening in,” Kurt whines half-heartedly, resting his cheek on his palm and pouting towards the screen.

Sebastian smiles softly, and his fingers itch to reach out and touch. He’s about to propose that Kurt ditches his friends for a nice, long evening in with nothing but Sebastian in his screen, see if they can figure out just exactly how to deal with his unquenchable need for a touch that they won’t get, when he sees someone enter the room and, soon enough, a man perch himself on Kurt’s shoulders.

“Don’t be such a grandpa, Kurt,” the man says, pouting lips shiny with gloss at him right before placing a noisy, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Elliott, don’t–” Kurt complains, wiping the leftover gloss from his cheek with his sleeve while giving his friend a sideways glance. “You’re wearing a cape,” Kurt states. “ _Why?_ ”

Elliott moves back to give a little twirl, silver cape following his movement and hand perched on an equally silver top hat. “Rachel said to look fabulous.”

Kurt sighs, and states, “Rachel says a lot of things.”

Kurt’s shoulders slump as his defeated sounding words leave his mouth and Sebastian can’t help but smile and laugh a little, just because Kurt can say so much just with the tone of his voice. He blinks his eyes open to see Kurt’s friend staring right at him, one big eye covering almost all of the screen before he moves back, his whole face coming into focus and then drawing back behind Kurt’s.

“Is this Sebastian?” he wonders. Then, with a smile, he sing-songs, “He’s  _cu-ute.”_

Sebastian smiles brilliantly at that, the sigh of a smirk curving his lips just slightly upwards, and Kurt pointing a finger at him and mouthing  _shush, you_ does nothing to appease him.

“Elliott, please,” Kurt says, his tone clearly somewhere between whining and begging, while turning to look at his friend. “Can you buy me like, ten minutes? I promise I’ll go out and have fun and all that, but just give me ten minutes.”

Elliott nods slightly as he moves away from Kurt, and Sebastian imagines that there’s a hint of an eye roll in his expression. He can hardly discern much with the quality of the picture, but by the stories of the one and only  _Starchild_ Kurt has shared with him, he fancies that he can guess at his thoughts.

“Ten minutes, but that’s all you get; last time I got between you people Blaine yelled at me and Rachel commandeered my bed.”

Kurt does roll his eyes, no subtle motion to it. “That was years ago, and everyone knows you don’t let Rachel in unless you’re planning on keeping her.”

Elliott doesn’t answer, instead flicking Kurt’s nose and laughing at his subsequent indignant squawk. With a wave of fingers and a last  _goodbye, lover_ sent Sebastian’s way, he leaves the room right after taking his top hat off and with a swirl, leaving it on Kurt’s head. Kurt arranges it properly over his hair, and once he’s done, he looks back at the computer with a big smile. Sebastian thinks he might already like Elliott.

“Why am I not surprised that you have friends that think top hats are somehow appropriate attire?” Sebastian wonders, tapping his chin absentmindedly as if in deep thought.

 Kurt scrunches his nose, and grabbing the edge of the hat states, “The silver _is_ a bit too much, I guess. Black, though.” With that, he jumps from his seat, and not a minute later, he comes back with a black top hat perched on his head. “What do you think?”

“You own a top hat–What am I even saying? Of course you own a top hat.”

“Formal casual wear at its best.”

“It’s like you’re speaking a different language right now.”

Kurt looks at him, gasps over-exaggeratedly and puts a hand to his forehead theatrically. “This relationship can never work now. We are doomed, _doomed_ you clothe hating fiend.”

It takes a second for them both to start laughing, tired, silly giggles that they can barely contain. Once Sebastian can stop sniggering, he rests his chin on his closed fist and looks into the screen at Kurt’s smile and his tired eyes, and has the sudden burst of feeling that he only ever gets around him. He’s been in love before, but he’s always been entirely too rational about his feelings, even cold. Then again, for all that his time with Kurt hasn’t been long, he’s been so involved in his life and the people around him that he’s invaded every crevice of his existence in a way that no one has ever done before. He’s done it without Sebastian fully noticing it until they were in too deep, and he guesses that’s why when it comes to Kurt, coldness and rationality have been substituted by warmth and impulse.

He feels like saying something as eloquent as  _fuck, I love you_ , but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You look really tired, babe.”

Kurt shrugs, as if there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Why don’t you just ditch your friends tonight and get some sleep? Can’t they just be annoying at each other and leave you alone?”

“Hey!” Kurt complains immediately. “Those are my friends and I will not have you mocking them; we’ve been through this.”

Sebastian smirks, childish and feigning innocence. “What? All I said was that they sounded like twin hobbits on a sugar rush in half your stories.”

“You’re awful,” Kurt accuses, even if he can’t help but smile. “And anyway, may I remind you that you used to have a crush on at least half of that pair?”

“The bottom half, definitely.”

Kurt guffaws but covers his mouth almost immediately, as if ashamed of his own glee. Once he’s let out an all too clear peal of laughter, he moves his hand away from his face and sighs before saying, “I don’t even know why I like you.”

“Well,” Sebastian intones, “I’m smart, funny, incredibly handsome, a _beast_ in bed, I voluntarily feed you coffee and pie–”

“Hmm, must be the pie, then.”

“Mean, so mean, and yet I’m still the villain.”

Kurt laughs, short and tired, and Sebastian wishes yet again that he could reach out and ease Kurt’s obvious tension with a touch of his hand. Communicating through a screen is insufficient and frustrating, much more so for Sebastian, who has never been one for patience. It’d be so easy to make Kurt hum and sigh wistfully with a touch to his collarbones, a kiss on his neck, with a slide of his hands over the soft curve of his belly or the sharpness of his hipbones. Sebastian’s always been better with his body than with his words, never mind his writing aspirations; characters traced on blank pages that bend at his will have always been easier to handle than actual people, much more so people he actually cares about.

Kurt takes a deep, noisy breath through his nose, as if readying himself for something, and says, “Anyway, I do need to go. Blaine says he has something to announce, and he needs his audience.” He tilts the top hat he’s still wearing back, a thoughtful smile on his lips. “An important announcement definitely implies some kind of singing show… Hmm, I hope there’re fireworks.”

“Have I told you already that your friends are troubled individuals?”

“Because Hunter is _oh so sane_ and totally not prone to random singing extravaganzas?”

“Shut up, you love Hunter; he’s your friend now, too.”

Kurt nods a little, smiling wider as if he can’t quite help himself. “What can I say? Once you learn to mindlessly nod when he goes on about James Bond, he’s sort of adorable.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes at that, finding himself compelled to do so when speaking his next words. “It’s worse now, I accidentally got him hooked to _Anne of Green Gables_ and he won’t stop asking questions.”

“I used to love those books!” Kurt exclaims almost instantly. “My mom used to read them to me all the time.”

“So did mine,” Sebastian answers softly, letting himself smile at Kurt for a longer beat than appropriate, because the idea of it all warms his heart so much. Then, with a sigh, he confesses, “They’re comfort books; I may have been re-reading the series lately.”

“I was so in love with Gilbert Blythe.”

Sebastian hums, appreciative. “I bet he had a nice ass.”

Kurt sniggers, throwing him what must be an embarrassed look. “Stop making inappropriate comments about fictional characters.”

“What? I’m allowed to imagine him all hot and hunky if I like.”

“Ugh, don’t make it dirty.”

Sebastian smirks, ready to make it as dirty as possible, but gets interrupted by Elliott’s head popping from behind the partition that separates the bedroom from the rest of apartment. He closes his mouth, annoyed at the interruption, and pouts a little at the image of the back of Kurt’s head.

“Kurt, sweetheart, if you don’t go out they’re coming in.”

“Fine, Jesus, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Rachel says that she can’t believe you’re not paying her more attention after all the time you’ve been away; I fear the worst.”

“Don’t be dramatic, I’m almost there, ok?”

Sebastian catches Elliott’s nod before he disappears from view yet again, and then watches as Kurt’s shoulders slump before he turns his attention back to him.

“I better go,” he says.

“Of course, Blaine needs his audience,” Sebastian answers, and he knows it comes out bitter and a bit biting. The people in that room might be Kurt’s oldest friends and it might be petty of him but he’s jealous and pissed off that Kurt’s attention is so divided.

“Can we please not argue about my ex-husband right now? Please?” Kurt looks at him with pleading eyes, and Sebastian can do nothing but nod even if the reminder of Blaine being Kurt’s ex-husband sits uncomfortably somewhere at the back of his head. Kurt looks tired, though, too tired for his own good, and if his friends are too self-centered to see it and leave him alone, Sebastian won’t be doing the same.

“Sure, yeah,” he answers, and maybe his tone isn’t as kind as he would have wanted. “But get some rest, ok, babe?”

Kurt smiles at him, small but honest, the kind of smile that feels intimate and just for him, and even if it’s pixeled and feels too far away, it helps Sebastian breathe better.

“We’ll talk soon?” Kurt questions.

Sebastian nods and smiles, and then they say their tired goodbyes and finish the call. Sebastian closes the lid of his laptop and throws himself back onto the bed with a groan. Shaking invading thoughts away from his head, he decides to get up and go down to the café rather than go back to sleep; it’s only four in the morning, but he’s already awake and he’d rather keep his mind busy with mindless activity. He jumps from the bed and strips on his way to the bathroom before getting under the hot spray of the shower. He’s always liked his water too hot for his own good, and he’d been more than happy to find out that Kurt enjoyed the same kind of temperature and the way steam would crawl up the walls and mirrors and leave them sweaty and humid. They’d spent more time under the shower together than Sebastian had with anyone ever before.

He’s busy shampooing his head when he gives up on the whole idea of not thinking about Kurt, or about the short, interrupted conversation they just had. He hadn’t anticipated jealousy or displacement, but now he can see how naïve he’s been in that front. It’s not even that Kurt’s ex-husband is such a big part of his life, but the fact that Sebastian hadn’t realized just how much of a life Kurt had back home. Of course he’d thought about it, and of course he’d been cautious when asking Kurt to consider a life in Paris, but he’d always done it with a certain amount of cluelessness about what Kurt’s life back home looked like. Now, everything seems entirely too real.

For the past few weeks, Kurt’s been busy with a couple of regular singing jobs he’d kept on hold during his time in Paris, and the presence of his friends has been nearly constant, allowing him little time to rest or to have a properly long conversation with Sebastian. He might be tired and his friends might be annoying at times, but Sebastian hasn’t imagined the shine on Kurt’s eyes or the excitement on his voice when he’d seen them again. Kurt has a whole life that Sebastian knows nothing about, and somehow he doesn’t think he would gel in it the way Kurt has in his own.

He walks down to the café with a feeling of heaviness around his eyes, and merely waves his hand in the general direction of Tom’s figure. There’re a few customers tonight, a small group of regulars that he knows are prostitutes working the cold streets and a couple of kids doing their best at keeping their eyes open over what look like entirely too boring books. Everyone is served and seems happy, even a little loud for what’s usual at this time of the morning.

Alphonse, who is pretty and quiet and who Sebastian hired once, throws a smile his way, and Sebastian can’t help but reciprocate, even if that period of his life seems terribly far away right now. He steps behind the counter and in a show of boredom, puts his elbows on the cold surface and rests his face between his hands while sighing woefully.

Tom, looking up from the book he’s been reading intently up until now, asks, “Shouldn’t someone tell Alphonse that you have a boyfriend?”

Sebastian snorts. “He doesn’t care.”

“Well, _I_ do. Someone has to protect Kurt’s honor.”

“I’m sure Kurt’s honor is just fine, Thomas.” His tone is snappish and curt, making him clack his tongue in disapproval at his own impulses. It isn’t Tom’s fault that he’s suddenly realized that jealousy is going to be a factor in his life. “Sorry,” he mumbles immediately.

Tom shrugs, and happily answers with, “It’s cool.”

Sebastian just nods, and then lets the cozy atmosphere around him pull him into a somewhat sleepy state. Maybe it would have been better to stay in bed and try to get some sleep, and he’s considering the thought when he suddenly finds himself trapped between Tom’s strong arms. It’s not much of a hug, not with Tom plastered to his side and with Sebastian stiff as a board and looking bewildered, but he can’t say that it’s entirely unpleasant.

“Thomas,” he enunciates slowly, “What are you doing?”

Tom says nothing for a minute, instead squeezing him ever tighter before letting go with a pat to his shoulder. He settles back next to Sebastian, leaning towards his book and merely shrugging.

“You looked like you needed a hug, dude,” it’s what he says, even while mindlessly moving his fingers over the written pages as if trying to find the place where he’d stopped reading. His hand stops moving eventually, and when it does, Tom looks up at him and says, “It sucks that Kurt’s gone, right?”

Sebastian scoffs, hoping that that is enough to convey how much exactly it does suck. It’s funny, though, that Tom’s tone had been so sorrowful when talking about him; it’s obvious that Tom’s not sad  _for_ Sebastian, but actually because Kurt has left. It strucks him as odd, even though perhaps it shouldn’t, that Kurt has made himself a small part of a lot of people’s lives, of this café and this family that Sebastian has seemingly built around himself.

Sebastian thinks back to his grandfather and to their days together back here. The scent and the lights around him make it easy for him to recall the atmosphere, the warmth and easy comfort it had been. He remembers how being here had been the only thing that had helped him face his senior year at school, right after spending his junior year too busy being an asshole to consider any consequences. He isn’t sure exactly why this place means so much, but now, looking around at pictures and newspaper clips, he’s pretty sure that it isn’t the place so much as the memories and the way his family had always felt closer in here.

He looks at Tom, quietly reading his book now, and then around at the few customers that still linger. He thinks of Ginette and Paulette, who will be coming here once the sun is out and who will have smiles on their faces and renewed energy to go about the day, of Hunter sleeping upstairs and of Kurt, so far away but so close anyway to everyone’s heart. That’s his family, he guesses, the one his granddad perhaps had wished for him when he’d left the café in his care. He figures that this place is not about walls or pictures or tables, but about the people that live within it, so it might not be such a bad idea to make some changes, so long as his family is still around.

 

* * *

 

_He didn’t like Hunter at first. He didn’t like the upturn of his lip, the way his eyes would slit as if constantly suspicious, how stiff his posture was, or the way his hands would seem to be constantly twitching until they could bury themselves in the white fur of his hateful cat. He found him pompous and unapproachable, and if asked, he would have said that there was no possible way for them to ever be anything more than silent roommates doomed to a year of closed quarters and awkwardness._

_Truth be told, Sebastian wasn’t too big on people as a whole during that period of his life, so his not liking Hunter didn’t come as a surprise. Had it been the year before, Sebastian would have actually found countless amounts of glee torturing his obviously socially awkward roommate with childish ploys, but after the way his junior year at Dalton had gone down, he didn’t feel particularly inclined towards mischief. So, he left Hunter alone for the most part, which seemed to suit him just fine. And then the storm happened._

“Hey, do you remember that night at Dalton senior year, with the storm?” Sebastian asks suddenly, looking up from his laptop and at Hunter for the first time in the last hour.

He’s sitting on the floor, his legs stretched before him and his laptop resting on a cushion propped on his lap. He’s leaning against the small closet that has all of his mom’s things in it, and he’s left it open, as if he can somehow grasp the remnants of her scent. He’d been to her grave this morning, and he guesses that’s what has him feeling nostalgic this afternoon.

Hunter, for his part, had come back home from a long run only to lie down on the couch and keep his eyes glued to one of _Anne’s_ book as if his life depended on it. The only thing he’d said all afternoon had been _Bas, Anne just said no to Gilbert’s proposal, that’s just not okay_.

It takes a minute for Hunter to acknowledge his question, but when he does, he looks straight at him and says, “Is this important? ‘Cause Gilbert is very sick and if he dies I’m going to hate you forever for making me read this.”

Sebastian scoffs. “I didn’t make you do anything, jerk. Answer my question.”

“You’re so snappish lately,” Hunter tells him. “Kurt not into cybersex or something?”

Sebastian takes a short, sharp breath to stop himself from being rude, and with a glare thrown Hunter’s way, he answers with, “Kurt and I are just fine, thank you.”

Except of course, that they haven’t actually talked for the past couple of days and that jealousy has actually settled quite nicely somewhere inside Sebastian. He hates it, the way it makes him entirely too self aware of his own feelings and of everything that is at stake. He doesn’t feel like talking about it, though, just because it will probably lead to more awkward emotional sharing than he’s willing to go through today. Hunter seems to catch onto his mood, and looks at him with a frown after letting the open book rest on his chest.

“Hey, Bas, is everything al–”

“Can we please not talk about this now?” Sebastian interrupts, his voice pained and his expression matching the tone. “Can we just–that day, with the storm?”

 Hunter hums, as if agreeing but disapproving of his silence, and stops looking at Sebastian in order to look up at the ceiling instead. He looks peaceful and thoughtful, and at least Sebastian can be thankful that he seems to be doing better lately.

“When we had that James Bond movie marathon?” Hunter wonders finally. “We got stuck at Dalton for the weekend because of the storm, and you just randomly joined me watching movies in the room, yeah. Why?”

“Just thinking about it,” Sebastian tells him. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, or maybe the light rain pouring outside, but that particular afternoon has been stuck in his head all day long. He looks outside for a second, and when he looks back at Hunter, he deadpans, “Although if I had known that would make me your official James Bond movie companion I may not have done it.”

Hunter scoffs, but clearly chooses to ignore his comment, staying silent instead. For a moment, they’re both quiet again, only the pattering of the rain against the windows filling the silence inside the room. It’s warm and cozy inside, and usually Sebastian loves this kind of weather, but today it’s only managing to make him feel inadequate and uncomfortable. He may have tried to play the tragic hero for a while, but the role truly doesn’t suit him, and the promise of patience and stillness that he made Kurt sits heavily on him. The weather only seems to amplify the feeling, making him jittery. He’s never been one to sit still, and if only he thought there was something he could be doing to make Kurt come back other than what he’s already doing, he’d be on the move already. As it is, Kurt needs to make his own decisions, and Sebastian has a few things of his own to get in order, anyway.

“You didn’t like me at all back then, did you?” Hunter asks suddenly, snapping Sebastian out of his thoughtful mood. Distracted still, Sebastian murmurs a questioning  _huh?,_ and Hunter repeats, “At Dalton, at first, you didn’t really like me?”

“Don’t feel bad, Hunt, I just didn’t like people in general.”

“Oh great, so not even your dislike was personal.”

Sebastian chuckles and says, “I thought you were a pompous ass. _I’m Hunter Clarington the third,”_ he intones, putting his nose up exaggeratedly and talking in a mock high class slur. “You _were_ a pompous ass.”

“Please, like you were any better with your smirky I-just-don’t-care stitch,” Hunter counters back, smiling when all he manages to do is make Sebastian laugh. He lets the laughter linger for a bit, and then asks, “What’s with the trip down memory lane, anyway?”

“Just something I’m writing,” Sebastian answers nonchalantly, as if it’s unimportant.

“About Dalton?”

Sebastian shrugs and licks his lips, calculating his response. It’s too soon to tell, but the passages he’s been writing these past few weeks are starting to make sense when put together, and he thinks he has a basic narrative structure to work with. It might be nothing, but it also might be a novel.

“About everything,” he answers finally, which might not be a very specific answer, but which is the truth. He bites his lower lip, and before Hunter can say something more, he tells him, “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it, and also about what you said about buying the local next door and remodeling the café.”

Hunter blinks at him, and Sebastian spies the way his hands become suddenly twitchy before starting to tap a steady rhythm on the cover of the book that’s still resting on Hunter’s chest. “And?” he asks, obviously anxious.

“The thing is, this might be something,” Sebastian says, pointing at his laptop as if that could encompass the cloud of ideas that have been flowing his mind lately.

“Something?”

“Something good, or brilliant, or terrible, but I have to see it through,” Sebastian tells him, saying out loud for the first time what he’s been feeling for a while. There’s always something surprising about putting real words to thoughts like this, but now that he’s started, he needs to keep going. “I honestly don’t think I have the time to get into a project as big as the café thing.”

“Right,” Hunter says, curt and so clearly disappointed that Sebastian can’t help but hasten his next words.

“The numbers work though, I mean, we’d need a bank loan but it’s doable. And I’m pretty sure we could make the place look great with more space.”

“Wait, wait,” Hunter says, sitting up entirely too quickly and distractedly throwing the book away. His hair is plastered to the back of his head, and his expression is so bewildered that it makes Sebastian laugh. “What do you mean _we?”_

“I want to do it, but I can’t do it alone if I want to become the most awesome writer in the known universe as well, so I figured–”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Sebastian nods, and feeling suddenly shy, he looks down and scratches at the back of his neck. “Look, my granddad had his whole family to help him with the business, and since I’m basically stuck with you, we might as well. You said you needed a project, and an excuse to stay in Paris and use your fancy business degree, so you might as well put your name on a business that you actually like.”

“Bas, that’s–” Hunter stops, as if something’s caught in his throat and he can’t keep talking. He looks away, his eyes blinking and suddenly suspiciously shiny. When he manages to look back at Sebastian, after taking a big breath, he says, “You realize that if I say yes I’m going to have to hug you?”

“That won’t be necessary, Hunt, really.”

“Yeah… I’m still gonna, ok?”

With a sigh, Sebastian answers a low but bright, “Ok.”

Hunter does hug him, and for the first time in weeks, Sebastian feels like he’s finally waking up. He’s just put his life on the fast track, sudden and almost impulsively, the way he usually does things. Now, if only he can talk to Kurt and tell him, everything might just be alright with the world.

 

* * *

It’s still two days before he hears from Kurt again, and even if the plans he’s been discussing with Hunter have kept him quite busy, the uncomfortable knowledge of Kurt’s absence has been distressing him. He misses him, and he wonders if he’s being missed back just as much.

It’s late at night, almost past midnight, and the café is empty and quiet. He’s trying to put some of his accounts in order, but the warm yellow light makes it hard for him to concentrate on the task, and instead he finds his mind wandering to Kurt. With a sigh, he gives up on doing any actual work and pulls up Skype, thinking that he may just be lucky enough to catch him, even if he hasn’t managed to do so for the last couple of days. Schedules are difficult for them, he knows, but he needs more attention than he’s getting if he’s supposed to survive this.

He’s about ready to give up when the video comes up on the screen, Kurt’s smiling face filling the image.

“I was just about to call you!” is what he says in lieu of hello. He’s smiling, seemingly happy, and Sebastian would wonder if there’s any particular reason if he didn’t feel suddenly elated at finally getting a moment of him.

What he answers to Kurt’s excited welcome, though, is, “ _Huh uh,_ of course you were.”

“Was too!” he complains, and after thinking about it for a second, he sticks his tongue out at Sebastian.

Sebastian can’t help but smile. “You seem happy.”

“Yes!” Kurt replies immediately, what seems to be a permanent smile not leaving his face. “I mean, can’t you hear it?”

Sebastian frowns, and when he spies the half full glass of wine Kurt is holding, he wonders if he might be drunk. He raises one eyebrow, and tells him, “Babe, I can’t hear a thing.”

“Precisely! Silence, Sebastian, precious, impossible to get, magnificent silence.”

“Ah, I see, you’ve finally been left alone.”

Kurt nods excitedly, and yes, maybe he is a little drunk after all. He looks adorable, though, with his cheeks a little red and his lips constantly playing with the shades of different smiles. He looks comfortable, too, sitting on his bed rather than at his desk and wearing loose pajama pants and a big old sweater that shows Sebastian the tantalizing skin of his collarbones.

“I just spent a whole day lazing around, reading, taking one big, long bath–”

“Getting drunk?”

“Shush Smythe, I had _one_ glass.” And he shows Sebastian one thin finger, as if that’s enough to prove the truth of his statement. “ _And,_ I was just about to call my boyfriend and talk to him without being interrupted, alright?”

Sebastian feels the word  _boyfriend_ like a caress, as if the syllables coming from Kurt’s mouth were curling somewhere at the small of his back and crawling up his spine all the way to the center of his head. It’s obvious that that’s what they are, but he’s positively sure they’ve never voiced it before, and the sensation is pleasantly surprising. Sebastian’s never been one to need labels, but considering how fragile everything about their situation is right now, he likes that there’s a word for them that he can cling to.

Despite the surge of feeling coursing through him, Sebastian can’t help but remark, “Your seriously neglected boyfriend.”

Kurt pouts, and even if the expression seems childish and playful, there’s a shadow of hurtful doubt in it that Sebastian doesn’t even have to make an effort to spy. Quickly, Kurt tells him, “Don’t say that. Last time I neglected a long distance boyfriend I got cheated on.”

“Kurt, I woul–”

“I’m sorry, you know?” Kurt interrupts, clearly not even listening to Sebastian trying to say something. “I know it’s been chaotic these past weeks, and it’s not like I didn’t miss you, too.”

“Kurt, ba–”

“What was Blaine’s problem, anyway?” Kurt interrupts yet again, and Sebastian has the feeling that he’s suddenly very far away, somewhere in the past where Sebastian can’t reach him. He’s circling his ring finger absentmindedly, probably even hurting himself. “I didn’t answer one call or something and that was excuse enough to jump on the first bed he found, and somehow this was my fault.”

“But Kurt, I didn’t–”

“And don’t think I haven’t seen that–that _Alphonse_ looking at you like…” He stops here, moving his hands about as if he doesn’t know what to say. “Please, don’t do that to me; I mean, if it’s not working or if you don’t want… whatever, but please don’t do that to me.”

“Kurt, stop!” Sebastian exclaims, and finds himself reaching forward and grabbing the sides of his laptop, as if somehow he could transport the touch to Kurt, grasp his shoulders and bring him closer to give him the physical reassurance of his investment in this relationship.

Kurt looks straight at him, and even if he isn’t plastered to the screen, Sebastian can see his eyes clear and big in their stare. “Sorry,” Kurt mumbles. “Touchy subject.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sebastian counters. “It was a joke, babe, honest. I mean, not that I wouldn’t like to talk to you without interruptions more often, but it’s not like that.”

Kurt sighs, as if releasing all the pent up energy and stress of the past couple of weeks, and his shoulders slump forward as soon as his right hand lets go of his ring finger. Sebastian can’t help but frown deeply as he spies the gesture, and he would bite his tongue about it, but he can’t help but comment.

“Can you explain why exactly you married Blaine?”

Kurt waves a hand dismissively, but throws a bit of an eye roll as he says, “Who knows? There was singing and fanfare, I guess. But honestly, I’m in love with you, so maybe I just have a funny taste in men.”

“Oh, _har har,_ funny, princess.”

Kurt smiles almost immediately, thoughtless and bright, and it’s good to know that they can go back to their teasing in no time at all, especially considering that they’re probably going to touch on many a sensitive subject with their actual separation. Sebastian may have tried fooling himself into thinking that this would be just a breeze, but after fighting himself over unjustified jealousy for the past few days, he knows now there’s no point in thinking that difficulties won’t arise.

“Anyway,” Kurt says then, another hand flying dismissively in the air. “Blaine’s getting married now, so I guess it’s really about time we put our entire past, well,  _in the past.”_

“To the dumb boyfriend that adores him?”

“His name is Jeremy and he’s lovely,” Kurt counters. “And I never said he was dumb.”

Sebastian snorts, not bothering to hide his amusement. “It’s okay babe, I like it when you’re mean.”

“You’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Ah, yes,” Sebastian answers, nodding self importantly for a second. “I live and breathe to be a bad influence.” Kurt laughs at his remark, and Sebastian lets and easy smirk slip over his mouth. Soon enough, though, he drops the amusement and bites his lower lip before voicing his silly concerns of the past couple of days. “It doesn’t bother you too much, does it?”

“What does?”

“Blaine getting married again.”

Kurt frowns as he answers, “No, why would it b– _oh._ ” He closes his mouth, as if thinking his next words through. “You’re not jealous, are you?” he asks, and he must read something in Sebastian’s expression because he immediately says, “Oh, _you are._ That’s adorably stupid, Sebastian,” he coos.

“So my concerns are stupid. Thank you,” he snaps.

“Don’t be nasty, Sebastian,” Kurt tells him. “I know where you’re coming from, but Blaine’s just a friend I happen to have a conflicting past with, and you know this.”

Sebastian shrugs, as if that gesture could be enough to make him ignore the feelings he’s been having lately. He’s been telling himself that it’s alright to feel insecure, even if Kurt seems so completely sure that it’s stupid.

“Okay, but honestly, if you can worry about freaking Alphonse, then I can worry about your ex-husband.”

“I know, I know,” Kurt concedes. “But honestly I wouldn’t go back there, not ever. Jesus, just the thought… I might tell you someday about the level of unhealthiness we reached in our relationship, but I’d rather we didn’t spend our desperately needed alone time talking about Blaine.”

Sebastian concedes with a grumble followed by an easy smile that Kurt mirrors. Then, Kurt tips the remnants of his wine glass into his mouth, and Sebastian gets distracted by the movement of his throat as he swallows, but not enough that he doesn’t take a look at the bold white letters on Kurt’s sweater.

“Is that mine?” he asks immediately.

Kurt offers him a naughty smile, like a small kid caught doing something wrong and not caring one bit. He brings one long sleeve to his nose, making the neck of the garment stretch enough that Sebastian spies the beginning of a shoulder. The whole thing is entirely sexier than it should.

“I stole it, it’s mine now,” Kurt answers.

“Didn’t I give you a t-shirt already?”

"But I stole the sweater too, deal with it,” Kurt deadpans, all too sure of himself. “Anyway, I left one for you in exchange.”

“You did?”

“Yes, second drawer of your closet, at the back.”

Sebastian hums thoughtfully, not wanting to admit that he’s just not interested enough to notice any possible exchanges in his wardrobe. Drumming his fingers on the countertop, he asks, “Is this a regular sweater or am I going to need instructions?”

“One head hole, two sleeves, think you can manage?”

“I don’t know babe, I might still need your help.”

Kurt snorts at that, saying, “Putting clothes on you is the opposite of what I’d like to be doing right now.”

Sebastian groans, immediately picturing exactly what they could be doing if they weren’t entirely too far away. He looks at Kurt, his image tiny and just a little bit blurry, but still managing to convey exactly what he’s thinking with the shine of his eyes and the light blush of his cheeks. Sebastian’s about to say something about it when the abrupt sound of the door of the café opening makes him jump, the sight of a couple of disgruntled looking students suddenly annoying. Had they not come in, he may have just closed the café for a little cyber sexy time.

“Customers,” he mouthes at Kurt apologetically. “Two minutes, don’t go away.”

Sebastian does his best at being quick with coffee and pie orders, and throws a last glance at the two customers now spreading papers over a table and clearly intent on staying for a long while before he goes back to Kurt. He finds him hugging his knees and staring at a book absentmindedly, clearly distracted.

“What’re you reading, babe?” he wonders, making Kurt jump slightly and look at him with what feels like embarrassment.

Kurt shows him a hard cover portraying two faceless men in what can only be described as a  _passionate embrace_ , considering the title of the novel is  _The Locker Room._

“Really, Kurt?”

“What? Who doesn’t like some chiseled chests and growing manhoods every once in a while?” he complains, lifting his nose up. “For all I know this is the kind of thing you may be writing.”

“Excuse you, my porn is classy and tasteful, and it has no chiseled chests involved.”

“Oh, so _there is_ porn?”

Sebastian would chuckle, except that knowing Kurt the way he does, he knows he’s trying to subtly enquire about his writing, the way he’s prone to do. Sebastian would yank his chain for a while, but it’s late, he’s tired, and Kurt looks so soft and tired himself that he doesn’t feel entirely like it. Instead, he confesses:

“I have been writing something. Not that it’s–well, no actually it  _is_ something.”

“I swear, if your writing is as eloquent as your speech, Sebastian, I don’t know what–”

“I’m brilliant and awesome and you don’t even know how much.”

Kurt laughs, the kind of laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes and covers his teeth. Kurt hates laughing like that, but Sebastian loves the sound, even if tinny and filled with static as it is now.

“Maybe you can let me see sometime,” Kurt tells him then, his voice small.

Sebastian nods, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he does so. He does want to show someone, and Kurt and Hunter are definitely the two people that come to mind, but he’s still entirely too self-conscious about it. He’s always been, truth be told, and he guesses one wouldn’t think so with how bold he usually is when it comes to showing off. This is different, though, personal and dear and still too much of a fledging project.

“Anyway,” he says, trying to dismiss the subject and praying that Kurt will let him get away with it just this once. “I have other news,” he informs him. “About the café.”

Kurt perks up at that, clearly always ready to hear anything that might count as gossip. Sebastian, with an unconsciously smile on his face, tells him about Hunter’s proposal and about how he’s decided to go with it, and about how they’ve already started planning what it’s going to take to make the place bigger. Kurt smiles delightfully at him, so very obviously taken with the idea that it reassures Sebastian that he’s made a good decision.

“I can’t believe Hunter called last night and didn’t say a word!” is what Kurt says once Sebastian has actually shut up for longer than two seconds.

“Hunter called?” he asks, not having heard of this and childishly put off that Hunter managed to talk to Kurt yesterday when he couldn’t.

“He was worried that Gilbert was dying and he didn’t want to ask you because, and I quote, you’re evil and mean and you kicked Mr. Puss out of your bed the other day and how can he trust someone like that to tell the truth about his characters?”

Sebastian has a good laugh at that, and Kurt follows him into it because there are honestly no words to quite describe Hunter’s ridiculousness. The fact that he finds it so endearing is slightly problematic, honestly.

When Kurt manages to stop laughing, he turns wistful, a small smile curling the corner of his lips as he whispers, “I miss it all so much.” It feels like a confession he doesn’t want to make, and it makes Sebastian snap to attention immediately.

“Is everything ok, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kurt is quick to assure. “I just... It’s like… You know when you’ve been reading a really good book?” Kurt says unexpectedly. Sebastian says nothing, and instead lets him talk and say whatever it is he has to say in whichever way he can. “You’re reading this book, right? And it’s so wonderful and fulfilling and then you close the book and look at reality and it’s like everything is just–sort of–” Kurt moves his hand about in the air, as if he can’t find the words, and Sebastian finishes his thought with:

“Upside down?”

“No, not fully upside down. More like, tilted. Yeah,” he affirms, nodding as if trying to prove something. “Tilted, that’s it.” Softly and accompanied by a shrug, he mumbles, “I never thought New York could be tilted.”

“Kurt–”

“Let’s not talk about it, please. Everything’s been chaotic, and there’s only so many hours of Rachel Berry I can take before I go a little mad, ok? I think I just have to settle back into my routine, or something. Just tell me more about this remodeling; I expect to be consulted on the color palette.”

Sebastian hums, thinking that perhaps Kurt’s tilted world is a subject that he should pursue. Kurt’s expression makes him leave it for now, because he certainly looks like he needs some proper rest. So instead, he tells Kurt about their plans, his hands moving about excitedly and easily, and his smile quick to come when faced with Kurt’s honest excitement. They do say goodbye eventually, and by the time Sebastian closes the lid of his laptop, the sun is up and Paulette is coming to work. Sebastian trudges up the stairs with heavy steps, and remembering Kurt’s words, he searches for the promised sweater in his closet. It’s a dirty white soft one with a boat collar that he would never wear, but that is so Kurt-like that he can’t help but smile. He puts it on and goes to bed, and sleeps better than he has in days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, as usual. Work's been kicking my ass this year!


	18. Chapter 18

 

The first time a worker brings a hammer to one of the café’s walls, clad in blue and looking like the most threatening thing he has ever seen in his life, Sebastian cringes. It’s the inauguration of the remodeling work they’ve been planning for the last month and a half, and Sebastian thinks that he may be starting to hyperventilate, if the way the air around him feels suddenly all too thin is any indication. Ginette presses a small hand to his back and Hunter a broad one to his shoulder, and perhaps he looks like he’s about to faint. He certainly feels like it.

“It’s fine, dude,” Hunter murmurs next to him, squeezing his shoulder hard enough that it isn’t gentle. It makes him come back to the here and now, sharp focus pulling his eyes back to what he feels must be the destruction of a lifetime, but is merely the breaking of a wall.

“It’s just a wall,” he says out loud, breathy and perhaps half scared.

“That’s right, just a wall,” Hunter repeats eagerly, nodding his agreement next to him wholeheartedly.

Sebastian’s mouth forms a tight line, the muscles around his lips feeling the tension of a fake almost smile. It’s just a wall, but it feels like so much more. For the last month and half, while they’ve been swimming in plans and papers, talking money and issues and ideas, remodeling the café had felt like a fantastic project, something flying in the air that he could continuously discuss with Hunter with no worries, something to be excited about. Now, when the project is no such thing anymore but an actual tangible reality, Sebastian’s not sure he can bear watching. It’s silly, of course, a deep rooted nostalgia for something that no longer exists, but at the same time, it feels as if part of his identity is being torn in half. For a moment, it doesn’t seem like this is a good change at all, and Sebastian wants to scream.

“I’m going to be upstairs,” he intones, neutral and too small, so much that he wonders if he’s pronounced actual intelligible words.

Hunter squeezes his shoulder, hard, much too hard, as if he understands that he may just need something to ground him. “You want me to–”

Sebastian cuts Hunter’s question with a sharp, “Kurt.”

“What?”

“Kurt, I’m gonna call Kurt. I’ll be upstairs, and you’ll be down here, and Kurt’ll be on the phone, and that’s good, right?” He blinks, feeling as if his eyes have been plastered to the sight of mindless destruction for too long, and turns his gaze away so he can look at Hunter. Hunter’s eyes look big and warm, understanding in a way Sebastian wishes they weren’t.

“You sure?” Hunter asks.

Sebastian just nods, the movement tight and small, before walking away towards the stairs in long strides. He climbs the steps two at a time, the lingering feeling of Ginette’s and Hunter’s hands fading as he walks towards the hiding place that is his apartment. When he reaches the door, he’s breathing much too hard for someone who’s only climbed a small number of steps. As he walks inside, his hands and feet follow a nearly unstoppable trail, as if fulfilling unspoken instructions. He turns the stereo on to play some soft music, wipes inexistent sweat from his face, chucks his shoes away and finds a place to sit on the floor, right between the small table and the couch. It’s only when he’s sitting down that he realizes that he’s followed the exact same path of actions he’s seen Hunter go through a million times when he’s feeling particularly distressed. He laughs mirthlessly; he must be going mad.

Sebastian rubs his eyes and licks his lips, as if trying to get a sense of his physical self. He feels unfocused, his head swimming somewhat scarily. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth, and finally gathers his wits and fishes his phone from his pocket. He calls Kurt’s number, and just the ringing against his ear is enough to bring some of his focus back.

“Mmm… ‘llo?” is what he finally hears once Kurt picks up the phone, his sleepy voice barely more than a mumble against his ear.

Sebastian presses the phone closer to his face, as if that could somehow pull Kurt physically closer to him. “Kurt,” he whispers, and when noticing the sharpness of his tone, follows it with, “Hey, babe.”

“Is everything alright? Sebastian? Did something happen?”

Sebastian frowns, wonders, “Yeah, everything ok; why so alarmed?”

“It’s three in the morning, Sebastian,” Kurt grumbles, his tone that of a parent scolding an insufferable child.

“Fuck,” he answers, taking a sly look at his watch as he throws his head back, resting his neck against the edge of the couch. “Didn’t even think about that,” he mumbles. It’s early morning in Paris, of course, even if it’s a grey morning, but it’s not even close to a decent calling hour for New York. “Sorry, babe, I’ll call lat–”

“Sebastian,” Kurt cuts him immediately, his tone tense and suddenly all too awake. Sebastian pictures him in bed, mused hair, tired eyes and soft covers all around him, perhaps a naked shoulder peeking from one of his oversized sweaters, but expression determined nonetheless. There’s no chance Kurt won’t be calling him on his bullshit.

Silence crackles over the line, and before Kurt questions him, Sebastian chooses to speak his mind. “They’re destroying the roots of my identity,” he says, whispering yet again while bringing his fingers to his forehead for a tired massage of his temples; he’s getting a headache.

There’s silence in the line again, the soft sound of Kurt breathing carrying between the lines and somehow enough to make Sebastian feel just a little bit less lonely. He wishes he hadn’t turned on the stereo, just so he could listen better.

“Sebastian,” Kurt starts, and the way he says his name, taut, full and steady, has the same grounding effect that Hunter’s hand on his shoulder had just minutes ago. Kurt lets it linger, as if trying to make sure Sebastian’s paying attention, and then, he says, “It’s just a wall; a wall isn’t the roots of your identity.”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh, not at all surprised that Kurt, even half asleep and on the other side of the world, knows exactly what he means.

“I can’t believe I’m the one that gets the drama queen title in this relationship,” Kurt jokes immediately. “Really, Sebastian.”

“I’m having an existential crisis over here; can’t you cut me some slack?”

“You probably get enough coddling as it is from everyone else.”

Sebastian shrugs, pouting a little into the phone before realizing that Kurt can’t see him. “Tom does keep hugging me randomly,” he says. “He’s completely psychotic.”

“Oh yes, he’s going to murder you with hugs.”

Sebastian chuckles, and he hears the soft sound of Kurt’s laughter filter through the phone. Silence settles between them yet again soon after, though, and Sebastian lets it linger while resting his back more comfortably against the couch. He feels satisfied when his defeated slouch turns into something akin to a lazy sprawl, both legs set on the floor before him and the hand that isn’t holding the phone playing absentmindedly with the rug beneath him. He settles his eyes on the picture the window offers him, grey sky that threatens rain and a quiet street.

"My mom would mock me for taking this so seriously,” he eventually intones into the phone.

Kurt hums, saying, “Sounds wise, your mom.”

“Yeah.”

Sebastian nods, trying not to say something ridiculous along the lines of  _wish you were here_ or  _it’d be easier with you._ He has such a support net as it is that Kurt being here shouldn’t feel so necessary, but Sebastian can’t help but want his hand held through this entire ordeal. He feels vulnerable, broken open and full of unwanted anguish, needing people around him in a way he never has before.

“Ugh,” he whines. “I have so many  _feelings_ .”

“You don’t have to sound so disgusted.”

“I blame you, you know? I wasn’t this weepy before.”

“You were good at playing the whole uncaring and unimpressed character, I’ll give you that, but don’t think you fooled me for a minute,” Kurt tells him.

“Ah, of course, surely not you.”

“Damn right, Smythe; I knew you were nothing but a snob with too many feelings the moment I saw you.”

“Just for that you’re not getting a Rolex for your birthday.”

“Oh, no, woe is me.”

Kurt laughs, a clear but small peal of sound, and Sebastian entertains himself with picturing him as he moves about on his bed. He wonders whether he’s laying down or sitting up, and concludes that he’s probably somewhere in between, with a fluffy pillow against his back and his sleepiness trying to pull him into a prone position. He pictures him surrounded in light colored sheets and a thick comforter, the twitchy fingers of his free hand smoothing the sheet below him unconsciously. It’s so easy to see his mannerisms in his head, even when he’s not before him, imagine the way his hand shoots occasionally upwards, or the way his eyes widen and close up as he speaks to him, his tone betraying his hidden expressions.

They lapse into silence once again, and Sebastian would be worried if this wasn’t the way most of their conversations go. They have settled a bit of a routine when it comes to calling or skyping, and while they seem to discuss anything and everything that comes to their minds, they seem to also be happy enjoying the simple knowledge that the other is on the line, seemingly close even if far away. Not that Sebastian wouldn’t enjoy Kurt yapping about Blaine’s wedding or his new shirt for hours, but it's nice knowing that comfortable silence is something that they can share so easily.

Kurt’s the one to re-open the conversation this time, asking, “Sebastian, you’ll be okay, right? This was something that you wanted.” He sounds serious now, but also steady and grounding, like a rock that Sebastian can hold on to.

“I did; I _do_ ,” Sebastian intones immediately, his free hand flying up and then down as if disgruntled. “It was all pretty plans, though, and Hunter babbling excitedly about how _this is so cool, dude_ , but now there’s an ugly, dirty French guy tearing down my wall and it feels all wrong.”

“And you’re sitting in your apartment looking at the grey sky and listening to melancholic music to accompany your feelings?” Kurt questions, and Sebastian swears he can physically feel his raised eyebrow look.

Sebastian _tsks,_ wishing once again he hadn’t turned on the stereo. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

“You and your obsession with ambiance.” Kurt chuckles. “You know what you should do?” Kurt stops, just enough that it feels like a dramatic pause. “Give yourself one day to wallow in your feelings of wrongness, and then embrace all the new and good things that are coming your way; get up early, go get some fresh air, play some happy music instead of whatever woeful soundtrack you have going on now.”

“It’s some of Hunter’s weird yoga music,” Sebastian answers, all too happy to avoid the main issue and focus on easy small talk and the sound of Kurt’s voice. “It’s nothing but sitars; makes me want to smoke pot.”

Kurt hums shortly, and Sebastian’s pretty sure that he’s just humoring him when he questions, “Yoga?”

“Yeah, his new therapist has him hooked up on it; I came in the other day to find him in yoga pants with the sitar music and my place smelling of incense,” he tells Kurt. “I’m reconsidering our friendship.” 

Kurt snorts on the other side, and Sebastian manages a smile even while whipping his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans. He’s still feeling just a tad anxious, but his shoulders feel looser and he’s stupidly comfortable even while sitting on the hard floor.

“Shut up, you love it,” Kurt tells him then.

Sebastian can do nothing but offer a mild grunt of agreement. Hunter might be a pain in the ass on occasion, but he understands Sebastian in a way that hardly anyone else in the world does, and he makes the big space of his apartment feel less lonely. His ridiculousness is a constant source of amusement for Sebastian, along with his penchant for getting obsessed with books and movies. The fact that they worry about each other the way Sebastian suspects brothers do seems to be reason enough to mock him and care for him equally.

“He told me you’ve been sleeping with the cat.”

Sebastian gasps, miffed that Hunter would betray him by spreading his secrets like that. “It’s a fluffy cat, ok?” he whines.

Kurt laughs at him, and Sebastian wishes he could answer with a childish pout that would somehow convince Kurt of kissing him. They haven’t touched in _so goddammed long._

“ _God, I wish I could touch you,_ ” he says, and isn’t surprised when his voice comes out whispery and wistful, soft and maybe a little desperate. He can’t help it though; it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the people around him, but somehow he feels that this whole thing would have been a lot easier if Kurt had been there to hold his hand.

Kurt’s answer is nothing but a soft hum, perhaps thoughtful, because just when Sebastian thinks that he’s not going to say anything else, he follows his non-committal answer with, “I wouldn’t mind sliding between your legs and distracting you with my mouth right about now, yes.”

Sebastian nearly chokes on his spit, and is quick to answer with, “Fuck, Kurt.” He bites his lip, can’t help but run his hand through his hair nervously and then twist his thumb in one of his belt loops, so his fingers fall softly high up on his thigh. “I was thinking more about the hand holding type of touching, but that works too.”

Kurt _mmm-hmms_ contentedly, and Sebastian feels his cock twitching inside his jeans, more than happy at the image that's just been planted in his mind. He shakes his head while huffing out a breathless laugh, and rasps, "If I'd known you were such a perv, Kurt Hummel, I would have gone for you back in high school, I swear."

"Please, I wouldn't have touched you with a ten foot pole back then, with your silly smirk and your _oh yes please put Courvoisier in my coffee, I've been living in Paris you losers_ attitude," Kurt snaps back in no time. "I wanted to punch you in the face back then."

"Got you into bed in the end, anyway, didn't I?"

Kurt huffs, and Sebastian swears he must be wearing a cheeky smile on his face when he says, "I'm pretty sure _I_ was the one getting _you_ into bed, Mr. Smythe." And then, "But quit stalling and put your hand down your pants already."

Sebastian groans, wondering when exactly his fingers had started tapping an uncoordinated rhythm up on his inner thigh, suspiciously close to where his jeans already feel too tight.

"So bossy, babe," he whispers.

"Well, I'm picturing it, and it's not fair if you're not actually doing it."

There's something dizzyingly appealing about the tone of Kurt's voice, his slightly pouty whine lazed with seductive glee, and Sebastian can do nothing but grunt and allow his body to have what it's asking for. He slides lazily against the back of the couch until he's on his back on the floor, feet planted firmly on it too and knees bent, never mind that it's early morning and that he's in the middle of the living-room.

He undoes his jeans with a clumsy hand, cursing softly when the zipper gets stuck, and only speaking when he's finally pushed the material past his butt and he's fighting the elastic of his underwear, saying, "this isn't what I called for."

"You need a distraction," Kurt whispers back, "this is distracting."

Sebastian agrees in the form of the gaspy moan that floats out of him when he wraps his hand around his cock, gliding it up and down experimentally and swiping at the head as if he hadn't spent half his teenage years memorizing exactly what he likes. He's about to push his teeth into his lips to quiet a groan, but then realizes that would defeat the purpose of this altogether, and just lets go. He lifts his hips up, pushing into the circle of his hand, and sets himself a steady if slow pace.

 "Tell me what it looks like," Kurt asks on the other side. "Tell me what it's like when I'm between your legs, sucking your brain through your cock."

"I swear, Kurt, fuck," is Sebastian's eloquent answer. He can't really be expected to be coherent when his wrist is consistently twisting on every upward strike, right the way he likes it, and when Kurt is managing to be maddeningly sexy with nothing but his voice, but he still gives it a go. He swallows hard before he answers, and then says, "Dirty, you look so dirty when you're giving a blowjob, babe. Dirty sweet with your cheeks flushed pink and your lips bruised and spread tight and your eyes packing mischief, because you know exactly what you do to me." He stops, gasps, keeps talking even while the sound of Kurt's quick, shortened breaths fills his ear and manages to put a smirk on his lips.

"You do this thing," is what he says next, "where you just pull away a bit and rest your cheek on my thigh, and it's always too hot for words, and then you breathe against my cock, with your mouth parted just - so fucking gorgeous - and there's warm breath all over and fuck, you're such a tease, babe."

There's breathless laughter on the other side, shortened by what sounds like a pant, and it's so easy to picture Kurt now, eyes at half mast and hands wringing the fabric of the sheets between smart fingers.

 "Are you-" he starts asking, only to be cut short by Kurt's fast paced voice.

"Well, I wasn't going to, but now you got me all excited."

" _Good."_

Sebastian hears something that might just be the rustling of fabric on the other side, but is quickly distracted by Kurt hissing quietly before moaning openly and freely, as if the ghost of a long held sigh is trying to weave itself out of him. It makes him tighten his own hand around himself, pausing his movements just a moment as if to gather himself before his hand goes back to it, speeding up his strokes. Kurt’s making all kinds of alluring sounds on the other side now, and Sebastian finds this both sensuous and tremendously frustrating.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Kurt tells him next, and his voice already has that low, bluesy quality to it that it gets when he’s really turned on. It makes Sebastian smile. He hums, encouraging Kurt to continue, which he does with, “I think I miss kissing you the most.”

He says nothing more, though, and Sebastian busies himself with matching the rhythm of his hand to Kurt’s fast paced breathing. He tightens his fingers around the head of his cock every time, getting himself closer and closer, and enjoying the slow build of feeling low in his stomach. He wants to hear more though, just a little more, make this last for a while even if frustrating.

“Tell me more, babe,” he asks, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“Sebastian, I – you _know_ what I’m doing.”

Sebastian would laugh if he wasn’t too engrossed in the rhythm of his hand and the sounds Kurt is making. He bets that Kurt’s biting his lip, trying to stop himself from moaning too much. Sometimes Sebastian forgets how shy Kurt can get about his own pleasure, considering how bold he can be otherwise. He remembers how self-conscious he’d looked the first time Sebastian had asked him to touch himself and let him watch, and he bets that even now, alone in his darkened room, he’s hiding under his fluffy covers. They’re comfortable with each other, though, and Kurt’s a sexual creature if Sebastian’s ever met one, and he knows how to get him out of his own self-imposed walls.

Recovering Kurt’s trail of words, he says, “I miss kissing you, too. Naked kissing is my favorite.”

Kurt laughs breathily on the other side, the sound cut short by a gasp that has him mumbling before he can put coherence to his words and rasp, “Naked kissing?”

Sebastian nods soundlessly, thinking of kissing Kurt, of Kurt touching his own cock too many miles away, of his possibly wide-necked sweater freeing the beautiful skin of a shoulder, of his pink, wet mouth parted invitingly and asking for Sebastian’s. His fingers tighten around the head of his own cock, and his hips shoot up, writhing on the floor and seeking what he wishes could be Kurt’s hand.

“Sebastian,” Kurt pleads on the other side, his tone impatient, the kind of impatient Sebastian loves just because it means Kurt is too turned on to be shy. “Tell me more about the naked kissing,” he requests.

Sebastian digs his teeth into his lower lip, his hips now working their own senseless rhythm. He soon finds himself talking mindlessly anyway. “It’s just… just being naked and sweaty with you, kissing without a care in the world and then–when I wrap my legs around your waist, I know you love that.”

“Such longs legs, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, and then we’re so intertwined and you push me into the mattress with your perfect, rolling hips that just drive me mad, and _your mouth–“_

“And you always hold on to them, all long fingers just urging me on, and pushing up, because you get so impatient sometimes.” A whimper, and then, quickly, “but you make yourself stop anyway, go slower, and I love circling my hips _just so_ against you.”

“I just want to make it last,” Sebastian confesses. “I always want to make it last, and kiss you more, all the time.”

Kurt sighs, low and contented as he begins to say, “Sebastian…”

Sebastian pictures his lips, red, abused and gorgeous, and bites out a moan as he holds the phone between his shoulder and cheek so he can use his second hand and run his knuckles from his chest down to his stomach and back again, in that way Kurt likes so much. He feels broken open, but this time for all the right reasons, so he lets the feeling in his stomach build up and up, lets it curse through his veins as the picture of Kurt’s  _everything_ flies inside his head, and all too suddenly he’s digging his heels hard on the floor, breathing out a long moan as his hand tightens at the head of his cock and his orgasm hits him, long ropes of come carelessly hitting his shirt and the skin of his stomach.

Kurt starts asking, “Are you–”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Oh, _thank God_.” And the sound that follows from Kurt’s mouth makes him wish he could come all over again.

“I swear I could come just listening to you,” he whispers, his voice a little hoarse and his breathing still labored.

He listens as Kurt seemingly comes down from his own orgasm, laying one hand on his own chest and feeling the rapid up and down of it, and the fast beating of his heart under his palm. This would be a thousand times better with Kurt spread on top of him, warm, sated and tired, but he’ll take what he has over nothing any day.

Still sounding breathless, Kurt wonders, “Is that something that you’d like?”

“Huh?” answers Sebastian eloquently; having lost track of whatever it was they were supposed to be talking about.

“Coming just listening to me; I _could_ tie you up and touch myself next to you until you come just from sight and sound.”

Sebastian is left speechless at that for about a second, right before he bursts into a barked out laugh. “Oh my God, Kurt,” he exclaims into the phone. “I swear, the things you say.”

“Shut up,” Kurt whines, and Sebastian wonders whether he’s blushing or not, quickly thinking that he’s probably flushed all over from having just come.

“I won’t, babe,” he answers. “And oh, you can tie me up any time you want.”

“Can I gag you, too?”

“Mmm, kinky.”

They both laugh after that, breathless and giddy, and Sebastian guesses that as far as distraction goes, Kurt may just have had the best idea. Everything they do these days seems like an exercise in reminding Sebastian both about how stupidly in love he is, and how incredibly far away Kurt is right now, but more often than not, the good feelings end up outweighing the frustration and uncertainty of their separation.

“Should I let you go back to sleep?” Sebastian asks after a few minutes, once their laughter has died down and they’re simply breathing into the phone quietly. He’s half-naked and all kinds of dirty in the middle of his living-room, and it’s very late for Kurt to be up, so maybe they should be done with this one.

“No, no,” Kurt replies. “It’s all warm and nice and I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Sebastian nods silently, never mind that Kurt can’t see him, and quietly asks, “Is everything ok on your side?” He asks because he wants to know, because Kurt’s not having the easiest of times, but also because there’s no better distraction for him than focusing on Kurt completely.

Kurt takes a minute before he begins talking, and Sebastian pictures him shrugging, perhaps picking mindlessly and nervously at his covers, his fingers always busy.

“I’m fine,” he says finally, dragging the words into a sigh and immediately betraying that  _fine_ perhaps isn’t the word he should be using to describe how things are going. “I’m tired about the wedding business, though; everyone keeps looking at me funny.”

“Funny how?”

“You know how, with pity! Everyone cocks their head to the side and quietly goes _and how are you, Kurt?_ As if Blaine getting married is somehow going to throw me into some kind of depression! So far it’s just making me want to punch people in the face, honestly.”

Sebastian barks out a laugh, not being able to help himself. “Maybe you should.”

Kurt just sighs on the other side, the sound followed by the rustling of fabric as he probably accommodates himself on the bed. When he talks next, his voice sounds closer, as if he’s resting the phone between his cheek and the pillow. “I wish you were here, too, you know? So you could come to the wedding with me, and dance with me and be all hot and stuff so that people would be jealous.”

“You just want me for my looks, I knew it.”

“Well, _duh.”_

“Oh, fuck you, babe.”

“I wish,” Kurt answers, and he actually sounds wistful about it. “I wish you could come to the wedding with me, and dance with me, and be hot and stuff and then make love to me and cuddle me and hold my hand.”

“Kurt, are you really ok?”

Kurt  _tsks,_ clacking his tongue noisily in that way he uses when he’s trying to berate himself. They’re both throwing themselves a bit of a pity party here, so maybe  _tsking_ is just what they both deserve.

“I’m just confused,” Kurt confesses. “About… well, everything, ok? I got an audition next week and I don’t even know if I want to go, and having all my free time dedicated to talking about my ex-husband’s wedding is driving me insane. Like, I love weddings, right? But I don’t really care what flowers they put on the center pieces or anything. Elliott says I’m just being whiny.”

“Well…”

“You don’t get to judge!” Kurt exclaims immediately. “Not you and your wall of existential crisis.”

Sebastian snorts, and then eventually finds himself laughing as Kurt does the same. “Fuck, we’re so ridiculous,” he intones finally.

“I know,” Kurt answers, softly. “But I really do wish that you were here to hold my hand and take me to that silly wedding.”

“Yeah, and I wish that you were here to hold mine and tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do when I have all of that new wall space and nothing to put on it.”

“God, listen to us!” Kurt exclaims in a whisper, as if not wanting to disturb the quietness of his late hour. “We’re like an old, grumpy couple complaining about everything around us.”

Sebastian puts on a fake crotchety voice and says, “At least we have each other, dear.”

“I’m not sure that’s a huge consolation.”

“Oh, you wound me so, my darling.”

Kurt laughs, quiet but natural, and says, “Don’t be an idiot, you know I love you.”

“Comforting to hear it, though,” he answers, quietly following it with, “I love you, too.” The words are easier now, they don’t seem to get stuck in Sebastian’s throat the way they might have months ago, and they seem like a natural part of his relationship with Kurt. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point in stopping himself from spelling out his feelings so clearly when everything else he says seems to be soaking in them anyway.

 “God, ok, enough!” Kurt says. “Tell me nice things, about the café and Tom and Ginette and Paulette and everything else.”

“Not a lot to say.”

“You’re terrible at gossiping, you know?” Kurt accuses. “What about the new girl? Are you still looking at her funny?”

“I don’t look at her funny!”

“Hunter says you do.”

“Oh my God, you need to stop talking to Hunter, he betrays me; he’s no better than Judas.”

Kurt laughs, obviously happy, and then pries a few stories out of him with an insistently whiny  _tell me, tell meee_ that Sebastian can’t help but find adorable. He doesn’t know how long they talk for, Kurt half asleep on his side of the world and him half naked and laying down on the floor on his own. It’s enough to cheer Sebastian up, to make him realize that nothing is as serious as he’s been wanting it to be, and to make him feel just that bit closer to Kurt.

 

* * *

As the days pass and the new walls take shape around him, the loss of the original layout of the café doesn’t seem like such a tragedy. The place is a mess these days, but they manage to always keep a few tables clean at least, so the café stays open despite the work around them. They seem to get most of their customers at night because of that, if only because there’s no noise and the smell of new paint is almost easy to ignore when the other choice is the cold street.

Sebastian feels by times happy and desolate, but rolls with the feeling more easily than when the first wall had come down, grudgingly welcoming the changes if only because of Hunter’s enthusiasm about them. This is definitely as much his project as it is Hunter’s, just as he’d intended it to be, and focusing in something that he really loves seems to be doing wonders for him, more than any kind of pill or therapy. Hunter is happy, and now more than ever he feels like family.

Hunter is definitely the only reason he can pinpoint that had him agreeing to hiring someone else a few weeks ago. The _new girl_ , as he insists on referring to her inside his head, is actually named Océan, and Sebastian had only taken her in when Hunter had argued that they were going to need someone new now that the café would be bigger, and that they were already shorthanded as it was, much more so with Sebastian starting to pull more and more hours in front of a blank page. Hunter had been so rational in his arguments, and the other three so insistent that he listen, that he hadn’t been able to say no.

Océan seems like sweet girl, a little shy and little by little revealing a profound affection for old-school horror and sci-fi, if the books Sebastian has seen her bring around are any indication. She’s tall and a little too much on the thin side, so much that Paulette already has her eye on her eating habits, making sure there’s always enough food in her stomach. Tom’s already painted her, too, a sharp if kind face surrounded by brown hair tipped in light pink, and as soon as the workers are gone, Sebastian guesses her picture will be put up in their brand new walls. Sebastian doesn’t actively dislike her, but her presence had been just as jarring as the first broken wall, something new and terrifying and full of new possibilities.

“She’s a sweetheart and everybody likes her,” Ginette tells him one afternoon, right before he and Hunter manage to escape the café for a little shopping trip. Ginette seems to be particularly protective of this girl, and she’s never been one to take Sebastian’s bullshit. “You will be nice to her, ‘Bastian,” she berates.

Sebastian leaves the café that afternoon with his head hanging low and Hunter almost giggling behind him, his shoulders shaking. He’s always found glee in Sebastian’s misery, after all.

“She’s right, you know?” Hunter tells him a bit later, after they’ve settled into a leisure pace in their walk.

They’re going shopping for new furniture, but neither one of them seems to be in a hurry, and are more than happy to take their time and enjoy the city around them. Kurt had complained that they were going to a vintage market without them, but Sebastian had promised to take pictures and consult with him before getting anything because they so very obviously needed help from someone with actual style.

“Who is?” Sebastian answers back, grabbing Hunter’s thread of conversation.

“Ginette; you’re being unfair to Océan, you know?”

Sebastian shrugs, non-committal. He keeps walking, casually and nearly ignoring Hunter, looking up at the blue sky. It’s a nice day today, bright and clear, marking the beginning of the new season. It’s only another reminder of the passing of time, of change and of Kurt’s absence.

“It’s nearly three months now since Kurt left,” he says then, the non-sequitur making Hunter look straight at him, blinking in a seemingly purposeful slow manner. It’s doesn’t stop him from patting Sebastian’s back with a big, open-palmed hand and saying:

“We all miss him.”

Sebastian nods, acknowledging the thought. Still, he says, “We were together for less than six weeks.”

He doesn’t explain anything else. He doesn’t say that he may have just found the love of his life in the worst circumstances possible, that he propelled a world of change around him, and that everything feels like it’s spinning out of control without him to provide a grounding and comforting presence. 

Everything around him is moving, not of its own accord but because Sebastian has willed it so, and the sudden acceleration of his life when he’s been putting the break on it for so long is a constant source of anxiety. He’s always liked things he can control, but only now is he realizing that the things he loves are those he can’t. As the café expands, so does Sebastian’s life. He’s finally wrapped his head around the fact that he has a makeshift family to take care of, an aloof, ridiculous brotherly kind of love for Hunter, dreams he actually cares about, and someone to love, even if far away.

He’s been visiting his mom more regularly now, making sure there are always fresh flowers for her, and trying to deal with the pain of her loss, and how it had stunted him from living his life. He’s also writing more and more, remembering how frustrating the blinking cursor on a blank page can be, but also the incredible joy of writing just the perfect sentence, of finding the exact word. In essence, he’s finding himself again in things he loves rather than old walls built by his grandparents, and he’s also starting to feel afraid at anything that might threaten his new found balance. It’s probably why he still clings to some of his worst habits and has a hard time trusting people.

"I’ll be nice to the new girl, I promise,” he says eventually, drawing out the words as if the concession requires infinite patience.

Hunter gives him a small smile and says, “Just remember that your definition of _nice_ sometimes doesn’t actually coincide with the one the rest of the world has.”

“Fuck you, Clarington.”

“See what I mean?” Hunter laughs his own comment up, patting Sebastian’s back amicably once more before bringing his hands back to his pockets, where they can rest nicely and be still. Not letting the conversation die down, he asks, “How’s Kurt doing?”

As he answers, Sebastian grabs at Hunter’s elbow and pulls him to the right, guiding them both to the small vintage market Kurt was so sad he couldn’t visit with them. It’s small and usually crowded, but it’s also outside and not as busy as usual on an early Wednesday morning, so he hopes Hunter doesn’t feel too trapped in it. The least he can do is distract him with conversation, though.

 “He’s frustrated about the wedding,” Sebastian answers. “It’s affecting him more than he cares to admit.”

“Oh, people who don’t admit to their feelings, why does _that_ sound so familiar?”

“Please, like you’re such an open book,” Sebastian counters, rolling his eyes when Hunter childishly pouts his way, even crossing his arms over his chest in a stubborn gesture. “Anyway, I’d be worried he still has feelings for Blaine if he hadn’t chewed me a new one for even suggesting it.”

Hunter smiles at that, obviously amused, but rather than mock Sebastian's entirely too whipped status, he asks, “When’s the wedding?”

“This weekend.”

Hunter’s eyes open up wide at that, and suddenly his face lightens up, as if he’s had the most incredible idea ever. “Oooh, why don’t you go to New York and surprise him? You could go with him to the wedding.”

For a small, blipping second, Sebastian lights up right next to Hunter, getting himself ready to examine the possibilities of his idea. He squashes the thought almost immediately, though, saying, “No, that’s–no. That’d be like cheating,” he reasons. “We’re supposed to be making adult decisions about our lives, showing up in the middle of his would be pushy and stupid.”

“And terribly romantic.”

Sebastian nods, silently agreeing to Hunter’s point. Not only would it be romantic, but also the kind of thing Kurt may just love. But it may also be something he hates, something that makes him feel as if Sebastian is pushing him towards making a decision that he’s still not ready for.

“I can’t make him feel like he owes me something,” he argues.

“Well, that’s so rational and boring,” Hunter counters.

Sebastian chooses to ignore him this time, equally in love and hating the idea planted now in his head. There’s a beautiful charm in thinking about Kurt’s face if he saw him at his doorstep out of the blue, almost enough that it has Sebastian reconsidering his negative for about a minute. He doesn’t want to intrude in Kurt’s life though,  _can’t_ bring himself to do it even if he wants to see and touch him more than anything else in the world.

 

* * *

By the end of the week, the remodeling work is nearly finished. They have duplicated the space, and have decided to use most of it for more table space, giving some more room to the main counter but keeping the offices and storage space nearly intact. The whole project has been a good opportunity to fix a few old electrical problems and to give everything a new coat of paint, which had only been painful because it had made Sebastian take everything off the walls for a couple of breath catching days. He’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to put it all back the way he wanted, but he should have known that with Hunter’s obsessive pattern-making abilities everything would be fine.

Now, there’s a lot more wall space to fill up, and hopefully everyone else has a small thought of what they want to do with it, because he’s out of ideas. Aside from the small napkin he put up what feels like ages ago, there’s not a lot he wants to keep up there.

Saturday morning finds him frustrated and tired, staring at his computer unblinkingly after a long night shift serving coffee. He should go to sleep, but for some reason feels much too wired and restless. It may have something to do with how frustratingly sparse Kurt’s been for the past few days. Sebastian can’t wait for Blaine to get married already so Kurt can be freed from the whole affair, and from his old high school glee club members, most of which have invaded New York during the past week. They’ve been keeping Kurt so busy that last time he called, his friend Elliott was the one to answer and tell him that Kurt couldn’t be pried away from an impromptu singing contest.

He’s sighing his frustration away when Hunter irrupts into his bedroom, sweatpants and running shoes on. He looks at Sebastian sitting down on his unmade bed as if he’s the biggest slob in the universe, and almost immediately starts bouncing on the spot, an entirely too big smile grazing his face.

“I’m not going running with you,” Sebastian informs him before he can even think about it.

“Not running, boxing!” he exclaims.

“Boxing? I thought yoga was your new thing.”

“That’s for the mind, this is to discharge negative energy or something like that,” Hunter explains. “I think my new therapist just wants me to keep busy, but when the advice is to punch stuff, I’m good with it.”

 Sebastian snorts, internally thanking this new person that seems to get what makes Hunter tick. Keeping him constantly busy, both in mind and body, definitely seems to be doing the trick for him.

“Thanks, but no,” he counters anyway, not knowing whether to be mad or amused at Hunter’s up and down motion.

“Come on…” Hunter whines. “It would totally help our dudebro bonding.”

“Please don’t ever say that again.”

Hunter just smiles an even bigger smile, as if he’s stopping himself from outright laughing at Sebastian. “You’re grumpy today,” he tells him. “Get some sleep.”

“Sure, mom!” is what Sebastian finally answers, only to realize that he’s doing so to Hunter’s retreating back.

Heaving a sigh and admitting defeat, he closes the lid of his laptop, chucks his jeans away and lays back down on the bed, burying himself between soft, warm sheets. Before going to sleep, he picks up his phone and fires Kurt a quick text.

  _Try to have fun at the wedding, babe, you deserve it. Bet you’ll look hotter than any of the grooms._

* * *

“So, how was it?” Sebastian finds himself asking next afternoon.

He’s not rested at all, not having been able to sleep properly for some reason, but he doesn’t feel half as knackered as Kurt looks. If the poor image from his webcam is to be believed, Kurt went to sleep last night with his suit on, and now he’s sporting a crumpled beyond repair shirt with a mostly undone bowtie and a hairdo produced by non washed product and uncomfortable sleep. Sebastian chooses not to comment on it, though, and barely smiles cheerfully at the image before him.

“It was fine,” Kurt answers, and his voice is raspy beyond belief. He must notice it, too, because he takes his own hand to his throat and touches it briefly.

“How much did you have to drink exactly?” Sebastian wonders, all too ready to mock his hangover the way nicely bantering boyfriends do.

Kurt shrugs, though, nearly distracted. He looks away from the screen and around him, his hand now passively resting around his throat, and answers, “A lot.”

“Kurt, babe?” Sebastian questions, noticing how Kurt cringes at the appellative, unsubtle.

Kurt blinks slowly and visibly for a second before his eyes find Sebastian’s again, and Sebastian finds himself wishing that his mood is the product of too much alcohol and too little sleep, and not something else. He looks so very tired, and Sebastian has to wonder if the set of his shoulders is defeated or not.

“I drank a lot,” Kurt repeats, and the rasp of his voice sounds lost. “It was nice and everyone was very pretty and–thing is, I kept getting these  _looks._ Always the fucking looks, as if I was about to crumble any second, as if clearly my life sucks and the only hope I had at happiness was over now that Blaine was marrying a–”

“Princess, you know that’s not–”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Kurt snaps. “I’ve had enough of Santana calling me Lady Hummel for a lifetime, so would you mind?”

Sebastian retreats almost immediately, lifting up both hands in a gesture of surrender and wishing he could take a step back. He’d woken up feeling restless himself, and he’s not sure he’s ready for whatever it is that's going on with Kurt. He doesn’t have to wait too long, though, because now that Kurt’s started ranting, he doesn’t look ready to stop.

 “You’d think they’d believe me when I talk about the things that make me happy, like you and Paris and that one singing gig I have, that I _do_ like my life even if not everything’s clear right now, but no, that’s not enough. Blaine’s clearly won the break-up, so I’m worthy of pity now.”

“Kurt, come on,” Sebastian urges when he sees a spot to intervene. “You don’t care what those people think.”

Kurt shrugs. “Well, maybe I do. Even Rachel–”

“You’ve said a million times that Rachel likes to overdramatize,” Sebastian counters. “You’re just tired from helping with the organizing and–”

“Can you _stop_ telling me how I feel?”

Sebastian breathes in noisily at that, and physically bites his tongue to stop his immediate reaction. Instead, he slowly and quietly states, “I’m having a really hard time not snapping at you right now. If you want to bitch and whine about this go ahead, I’ll listen quietly, but don’t be mean.”

Kurt sighs, rolling his shoulders back and then rubbing his eyes forcibly. “Right, yeah, sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all, though, or like he’s in the mood to be anything other than angry. What he says next, though, is, “I just wish you’d been here; wouldn’t have cared about anyone else then.”

“I hardly think that the great Kurt Hummel needs a crutch to be fabulous,” he jokes, miserably trying to lighten up the mood. He knows this is a touchy subject, though, and that for all that Kurt loves his friends back home, they also make him feel vulnerable and insecure.

Kurt scoffs immediately, confirming Sebastian’s suspicions, and swiftly ignores his comment by continuing with, “We would have danced and kissed and made love and it would’ve been nice.”

Cautiously, Sebastian replies, “Yeah, it would have.”

“You should have been here,” Kurt says, and his tone isn’t wistful or hopeful, but sharp and almost accusing.

Sebastian bristles at that, not wanting to react harshly but also at a loss for what to do. Kurt’s obviously in a bad mental place right now, and he seems to be throwing darts at every direction. Sebastian feels like he can’t win here, and while he wants to be cautious, he can’t help but hate that he’s the one getting the brunt of Kurt’s bad mood.

Quietly, after licking his lips thoughtfully, he asks, “Are you accusing me of not being there?”

“It’s stupid, really,” Kurt continues, his tone mildly bored but obviously intended to sting. “I had this whole fantasy of you showing up here to surprise me and…” he lingers on the word, trying for casual but being so very much not so that it’s almost painful. “Well, shouldn’t have expected that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Sebastian replies sharply. There’s only so much control he can exert on himself, and he’s suddenly acutely angry at what’s being thrown at his face. “Kurt, if you wanted me there, you should’ve asked.”

“Oh well, excuse me for expecting a surprise!” Kurt exclaims. And there it is, full, unbridled angered, no longer covered by casually cold and passive-aggressive remarks. “There are some things you don’t ask.”

“Don’t be fucking childish, Kurt; you _do_ ask. You can’t just expect some random big gesture and then be disappointed when it doesn’t happen; I’m not fucking prince charming.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Oh, nice,” Sebastian snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back against his chair, so openly frustrated and angry right now that he can’t even begin to think about trying to reel this conversation back into something recognizable. “Maybe you should have stayed with Blaine, after all, if all you care about are big gestures.”

“Oh, fuck you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian bites his lower lip, trying to think before he blurts out whatever comes to his mind. “You could have asked, you know?” he says, his tone softer this time. “I would’ve jumped on the first plane to New York if you’d asked.”

“Yeah, maybe, I–” Kurt stops, deflated but still angry. “I can’t talk about this right now, Sebastian, I’m–” he moves his hand up and over his chest, as if trying to stop something painful, and Sebastian spies fresh tears on his face.

“Kurt…” he whispers, immediately breaking his stance and reaching forward, circling his hands around the edges of his laptop as if that's enough to touch Kurt, to comfort him. This would’ve gone a whole lot better if he could have just been there to hug him through this.

“I’m sorry, I just need some space,” Kurt tells him. “I need to shower and sleep and just–sorry, ok?” And with that and one last look, Kurt closes the lid of his own laptop, effectively cutting the connection and leaving Sebastian alone and bereft, mumbling a confused _Kurt?_ at his own lonely bedroom.

“Fuck!” he intones, feeling like he may have to punch something to stop the frustration clogging his chest. He doesn’t, instead cursing again loud enough that not five seconds later Hunter’s opening the door to his bedroom and stepping inside.

“Everything ok?” Hunter wonders, either ignoring Sebastian’s obvious distress or simply not noticing.

“No, it’s not fucking ok, Hunter,” Sebastian snarls, whirling to look straight at him.

“Okay…” Hunter intones, carefully and slowly, as if dealing with a caged beast. “Right, listen,” he begins. “I was going to bring this to you,” and at that he shows him a small, white envelope, “before you started cursing like a sailor, so I’m going to leave it here for you and then I’m gonna go away and let you deal with this, because you and I when one of us is in this kind of mood? Never ends up well, ok?” Hunter nods at his own statement, and then quickly leaves the envelope in Sebastian’s uncooperating hand before leaving the room with a last whispered, “Talk to me when you’re ready for crying and hugging.”

 Sebastian snorts a quiet laugh, bringing his hand up to his own mouth to stop the unpleasant sound. He drops down on his bed, defeated, angry and irritated, while at the same time grateful that Hunter knows when to leave him alone. He’s not exactly sure what the hell just happened, but if he’d only known just how Kurt was feeling, then maybe he would’ve been smart enough to jump on a plane without an open request. He’d been so sure that his presence in New York would have been disruptive that he can’t wrap his mind around the idea that Kurt may have needed a hand to hold more than Sebastian himself.

He sighs, unsettled even as his sudden rage leaves his body, leaving him feeling defeated. He lays down on the bed, looking up at his white ceiling and feeling the floor beneath his shoeless feet. Stupid stubborn Kurt not knowing when to spell things out for clueless people like him. Kurt should’ve known that if instead of saying _I wish_ for the last few weeks he’s said _I want_ Sebastian would've never denied him. He can do nothing now, though, not when Kurt has asked for space. He does wonder if it’s too late to fly to New York and hug him really tight, after all.

“No point now, Smythe,” he tells himself.

 He rises up once again, leaning his elbows on his knees and only remembering about the envelope Hunter just placed in his hand when he’s about to use his palm to support his head. He looks at the plain white paper stupidly, and with a shrug, opens it, not stopping to read the letters spelling his address clearly. Nobody sends letters these days, except, of course, his stupid thoughtful boyfriend on the other side of the world. What the envelope reveals is a single photograph of Kurt, wearing Sebastian’s Mickey Mouse t-shirt and sticking his tongue out at the camera, cheeky and gorgeous and looking like everything Sebastian wants. On the back, it’s simply signed with:

_So you have something for your wall.  -  K._

Despite everything, he can’t help a smile from blossoming on his face. Stupid, beautiful Kurt that he probably doesn’t deserve.

To the room at large, he says, “Don’t worry, babe, we’ll fix this one.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sebastian grants himself a couple of hours of sleep to calm himself down completely after talking to Kurt, not wanting the residual anger of their fight to carry onto to the rest of his interactions with everyone else, the way it usually does. He wakes up rested and almost content, ready to face a full night at the café, typing hands and coffee his only companions.

He steps into the shower and then the kitchen, and as he’s pouring himself a glass of water, he does a double take at the inside of his cupboard and realizes that all of his mugs have been organized by shape, size and color and are compulsively separated in their own categories, as if invisible walls were built within the cupboard. He sighs, dropping his shoulders tiredly, and reminds himself that he needs to apologize to Hunter for being a snappy idiot.

“Seriously, Hunt…” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head and noticing one single green mug with a post-it stuck to it, Hunter’s precise handwriting covering it. He takes it out of the cupboard, and reads:

_One single green mug? Why Sebastian, why? There’s no place in this cupboard world for it!_

Sebastian rolls his eyes even as he can’t help but chuckle. There’s no boring day with Hunter around, he guesses.

By the time he finally climbs down to the café, Sebastian’s already in a better mood, having rested and realized that his latest quarrel with Kurt is probably just one of many they are won’t to have. They’re far from perfect, and for every single one of Sebastian’s faults, Kurt has one that matches it, so there’s no point in pretending that any relationship with them in it is going to be fully peaceful. He’s not afraid of calling Kurt on his bad habits, though, or of making him talk about what’s really going through his head, so that has to count for something.

The café is nearly packed, being the late hours of the evening, and he spies Hunter serving coffee and pastries around, apron on and tray in hand. He looks calm, and Sebastian smiles softly at the picture. Tom’s still there, too, clearly prepared to go outside but busy staring at something on the wall, and Océan is busy behind the counter. Sebastian walks towards Tom and looks at whatever has him enraptured, which is nothing else than the few select drawings he’s chosen to put up on the wall. Everyone he loves is there, looking back at him from penciled eyes outlined by Tom’s talented fingers.

“That’s nice,” Sebastian mutters, making Tom jump, as if he’d been too engrossed in the examination of his own work.

Immediately, though, he turns towards Sebastian with a big smile and says, “This is so cool, just, _so cool._ Thanks for this Seb.” Without preamble, he steps towards Sebastian and brings his arms around him to hug him tightly. Sebastian would have been surprised if only this wasn’t Tom, already fond of hugging and now apparently determined to get Sebastian out of his funk.

Sebastian merely pats Tom’s back awkwardly, which seems to do the trick, since Tom backs away and turns around, his big, enthusiastic eyes clearly in search of another victim.

“Océan, come here!” he exclaims, waving his arms about as if the girl was miles away and not just as far as six short steps, making it impossible for Sebastian not to smile at his antics.

She comes to them slowly, a small and shy smile seemingly fighting her lips as she approaches, and her eyes darting quickly between Tom and himself. Sebastian bites his lower lip, suddenly invaded by the most embarrassing feeling of regret. He hasn’t been anything but cold to this girl, and even is she happens to be the metaphorical representation of his fear of change, she’s also nothing more than a quiet nineteen year old. Sebastian’s been unfair to her, and he can only hope that he can still make it up to her somehow. After all, she has pink hair and likes old school sci-fi; she’s clearly been made to work here.

“See?” Tom interrogates the moment Océan is close, bringing her close to him with a loose arm around her shoulders. She looks comfortable, having obviously already gotten used to Tom. “You have to let me paint you, I’m actually good.”

She just smiles awkwardly this time, shrugging under Tom’s arm. She’s as tall as he is, but her thin shoulders make her look small and almost childlike, which must be why Tom is looking at her as he would his little sister.

“Come on, tell her, Seb,” Tom prods.

Sebastian looks at Tom’s drawings appraisingly, secretly thrilling in making him nervous. He loves Tom’s style, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun. After a moment, he looks into Océan’s eyes and offers her a playful wink right before drawling, “Well, he’s a hugging psychopath, but he _can_ draw.”

Tom  _tsks,_ immediately withdrawing his arm from Océan’s shoulders just so he can cross it with his other one over his chest, and then pouts exaggeratedly at them, eliciting a small chuckle from them both.

“It’s the best thing you have hanging in here!” Tom exclaims, overdramatic and now throwing the back of his hand over his forehead, as if mortally offended.

With a smile, though, Sebastian counters, “Oh, I don’t know, I have something better.”

That seems to pique Tom’s interest, especially when Sebastian actually pulls something out of his back pocket and pins it to the wall, high and in the middle of the blank space, as if he wants everyone to admire it. It’s Kurt’s picture, and looking at it again only makes Sebastian want to sigh forlornly. He refrains from doing so, but Tom doesn’t, and when Sebastian looks back at him, he’s smiling goofily.

“That is a sight, dude,” he confides, nearing Sebastian yet again so he can pat his back with a big palm. “You tell him we miss him, ok?”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth curls up into half a smile as he answers with, “Sure.”

Tom’s about to say something more, his mouth already open, when his gaze connects with something outside that makes him smile instead. It’s Ginette, knocking on the window and impatiently touching her watch, as if to indicate Tom’s tardiness.

His smile isn’t any less goofy when he asks, “How soon is too soon to propose?”

Sebastian’s immediate impulse is to roll his eyes, but he ends up looking at Ginette instead, impatient expression on her face as Tom looks outside stupidly, expression elated. A few months ago he would have had a sarcastic answer for them both, but these days he thrives on other’s people’s happiness.

His answer, despite all of his best rational thinking, is a whispered, “Never too soon.”

It gets lost in the air, though, Tom having already waved goodbye and started walking outside by the time Sebastian’s words are out. He watches Tom’s back for a moment, and then looks back at Océan, who has her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and is peeking at Kurt’s picture as if not interested.

“Is that your…” she begins, moving her hands up and twisting them in the air as if searching for the right word, “ _Votre petit ami?”_

Sebastian nods, smiling. “ _Oui, ces’t Kurt.”_

“Everybody misses him,” she tells him. “Meeting him would be nice.”

Sebastian has to bite his tongue before he assures her that she will, his own wishful thinking making the forefront of his mind jump to the conclusion that Kurt will come back. Instead, he smiles awkwardly and answers with a quiet  _let’s hope you will._ Then, before he can chicken out, he rushes into the most genuine apology he can muster.

“Listen, Océan,” he murmurs, looking straight into her eyes. “I’m sorry about the past couple of weeks, I haven’t been fair to you, so I hope we can start over.”

She smiles, sweet and small, and shrugs as if it doesn’t really matter. “ _Ces’t bien.”_

Still not convinced that he’s done enough, Sebastian reaches forward and grasps her hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it and looking up as he says, “ _Je suis vraiment désolé.”_

She blushes, her cheeks reddening quickly and adorably as she shrugs, as if trying to hide herself from the world. She’s honestly adorable, and Sebastian already likes her, much more so when she whispers a quiet, lingering  _je…_ and then points her thumbs towards the door and turns around as if in a hurry, fetching her coat, scarf and hat as fast as humanly possible and leaving with a last, small smile directed at the café at large. Sebastian can’t help a smug smile as he watches her, going as far as moving his arm in a small gesture of victory and saying:

“Yep, I still got it.”

His delight is short-lived, though, Hunter stepping on his amusement by walking past him on his way to the back and biting out a low yet quite clear, “Well, at least you can apologize to _someone._ ”

“Hunt–” he begins, but Hunter’s already gone, his shoulders shaking as he grumbles away.

Sebastian looks up as his stomach clenches with guilt. Still, he finds himself wishing for patience, and then follows Hunter with big, purposeful strides. He’s been carrying the stupid green mug all this time, and he unconsciously grasps it tighter inside his left palm. He finds Hunter in the storage room, leaning back against a wall, chewing half unintelligent words and looking at his own hands, which he is crossing and uncrossing in a very obvious timed rhythm. Sebastian goes to him and immediately reaches out and traps both Hunter’s hands inside one of his own, not pressing hard but obviously trying to stop them. Hunter keeps them there, and after grumbling something that can’t even be a word, finally looks up and at Sebastian.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian whispers immediately, his tone genuinely so. He hates upsetting Hunter, especially when the only reason behind his bad mood is anger at someone else.

“You’re an idiot,” Hunter answers back. “A snappy idiot that doesn’t deserve my friendship.”

Sebastian nods, an awry smile finding his lips as he moves right next to Hunter, so he can lean on the wall too. Their hands separate, but Sebastian watches as Hunter crosses his arms and rests both of them on his own forearms, rather than go back to his manic movements again.

“You’re probably right,” Sebastian intones.

Hunter snorts. “Probably?”

“Fine, you’re completely right,” Sebastian concedes. “I really am sorry, Hunt,” he repeats, trying to instill his voice with as much genuine regret as he can muster.

When Hunter looks at him, he pouts, childishly so, and when Hunter can’t help but chuckle, he mentally congratulates himself.

“What the hell happened, anyway?” Hunter wonders. “Have a fight with Kurt?”

“Yeah…”

Hunter sighs, but still knocks his elbow against Sebastian’s in silent support. “You can tell me about it later,” he says. “Let’s go, there’s no one out there with the customers.”

Sebastian just nods, knocking his elbow back against Hunter’s as a way to acknowledge their silent camaraderie and forgiveness. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

* * *

It rains that night, the sort of rain that only remains slow for a few seconds before it’s thundering away noisily, buckets of water running down the windows of the café. Not for the first time, Sebastian is thankful that Kurt and Hunter kicked him out of the habit of smoking a couple of cigarettes at night. It may have felt endlessly bohemian in his head, but his skin and throat are definitely thankful for the reprieve they’re getting from being out in the cold.

The way the night is going, it could almost be any other night before Kurt arrived in his life, filled with dark weather and the comfort washing through him from the smell of coffee and the familiar surroundings of his family business. Except, of course, for the fact that the café feels as new as it does familiar these days, the new layout still stirring mixed feelings from him; and for Hunter sitting behind the counter and typing like a mad man. It’s almost too quiet, the offbeat sound of the rain, Hunter’s fingers against the keyboard quaint and fast, the quiet chatter of a small group of students clearly waiting out the rain and the low humming sound of the espresso machine behind him the only sounds filling the air. There’s always been something sadly magical about this place at this time of night, and Sebastian is reluctant to break the spell.

He stares outside, the dark street revealing nothing despite the yellow light of the streetlights doing their best. All of the mysteries of the Parisian night are out there, within his reach, and the only thing Sebastian feels like doing is staying inside and thinking of problems he can’t solve. He doesn’t sigh, but he does feel like it, if only for the dramatic effect of a desperately weary sound. His most romantic persona demands some sort of gesture, and he blames the contrast of the rain and the warm interior around him. He reconsiders his sighing, and just when he’s about to give into his more melodramatic impulses, something blunt hits him on the forehead.

“Hey!” he whines, flummoxed, just before he spies the projectile now resting on the counter and identifies it as nothing more than a pen.

“Stop it,” Hunter tells him, his eyes never leaving the screen before him. The white light of the screen illuminates his features, determination and focus present on the quick movement of his irises and the slight curl of the left side of his mouth. Sebastian would think it impossible that he’d broken his stance to throw something at him, but the now still pen on the counter proves different.

“What?” he asks, his tone still whiny.

Hunter doesn’t answer, though, and Sebastian wonders whether he’s teasing or his concentration has gone completely back to the Excel sheet before him. His majoring in business may have been a bit of an imposition from his parents, but Hunter certainly loves his numbers, and he’s taken on the task of studying and improving what he’d called  _Sebastian’s inefficient business running_ with something close to gleefulness, so Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised that he could interrupt himself for just a second before diving back into his work completely. There’s something neat about numbers that Hunter has always appreciated, after all.

Sebastian lets him be for about half a minute, which he takes to consider the expression on Hunter’s face and his fast typing. Then, giving himself a childish concession, he picks up the pen and throws it back at Hunter, hitting him squarely between the eyes.

“ _Dude!_ ” Hunter complains, his voice covering the sound of the pen falling to the floor. He rubs between his eyes and throws a murderous look Sebastian’s way, his eyes taking on an even more severe expression when all Sebastian can do is snigger. A couple of the students throw them a look as well, and he spies a few small smiles among them; at least someone other than him is amused.

“You started it,” he says finally, his tone the equivalent of an infantile _nyah nyah._

Hunter points a finger at him, goes as far as to move forward and poke Sebastian’s shoulder with an expression that suggests the deepest of disapprovals. “You’re a child,” he sentences.

Given the accusation, the only answer Sebastian can muster is sticking his tongue out in Hunter’s direction. Hunter smiles, but promptly tries to cover it up with an annoyed huff. That pulls a laugh out of Sebastian, small but loud enough in the space around them that it breaks the apparent stand-still the café had been submerged in. It makes the small group turn back towards each other and center themselves on the spread of notes and books before them, and Hunter look away from his laptop with a put upon sigh.

“So, what did I do that granted the projectile?” Sebastian asks, turning his face Hunter’s way and avoiding drumming his fingers on the counter as if impatient.

Hunter moves around until his back is against the edge of the counter, his leaning slouch anything but casual. He scratches at his neck as he says, “That thing you do, with the whole staring outside in deep thought and believing yourself some kind of book hero. It’s mopey and annoying.”

“Are you still angry about before?” Sebastian counters. “I _did_ apologize.”

Hunter moves one shoulder up, half a shrug that means to be casual but that doesn’t fool Sebastian for a second. Sebastian groans as he starts moving, the urge of rolling his eyes almost overpowering him. He doesn’t, though, not even when he hides his gaze from Hunter as he reaches under the counter for the green mug that he’s been carrying around all afternoon. It’s ugly and old, the edge of it a little chipped, the only half stuck post-it note with Hunter’s scrawl still attached to it not really helping the poor thing look any better. Sebastian can’t remember where it comes from, most of his furnishings coming from the half hearted attempt his mom made at saving every piece of furniture and tableware that had ever belonged to the family. Still, he presents it to Hunter, sliding it noisily over the counter and leaving it before him.

“Here, as a token of my appreciation, you can have the disturbing green mug and do with it as you will,” he intones, trying to instill his voice with as much honorable mockery as he possibly can. “Destroy it if it pleases you, good sir.”

Hunter throws a derisive look his way, even going as far as moving from his slouch so he can slap Sebastian’s shoulder with barely any enthusiasm. He grabs the mug between both his hands, though, twitchy, long fingers settling over it and covering it almost completely.

“I like the green mug,” he says. “It’s unique and different and sort of ugly, but not that bad when you look closely.”

Sebastian can’t help but snort, even as he looks at Hunter with something close to tenderness. He catches himself soon, though, and fits his lips into an easy smirk as he says, “Bit of a heavy-handed metaphor if you ask me, but ok.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, literary snob.”

Sebastian sniggers, easily avoiding Hunter making a second attempt at throwing the almost forgotten pen back at him. He cries  _abuse, so much abuse_ when the pen clutters to the floor, and only laughs when Hunter can’t help but do the same. They laugh quietly for a moment, and before they can lapse into silence, Hunter sobers up quickly by taking a huge breath.

“Come on then, what’s up with you and Kurt?” Hunter asks.

Sebastian doesn’t give in that easily, though, and counters with, “Does it feel to you that we only talk about way too serious matters all the time?”

“Bas, we spent an hour and a half last night arguing over which _Die Hard_ movie was the best of the franchise.”

“A _very_ serious matter, if you ask me.”

Hunter huffs, clearly demonstrating his disapproval, and while looking away as if disinterested he says, “Fine, go back to your forlorn observation of the rain. Be like that.”

Sebastian is tempted, if only to be contrary. He’s hopeless when it comes to Hunter, though, and he can’t say that he doesn’t want to share his feelings on his latest chat with Kurt with someone. A few months before he would have kept it all to himself, but things are different now, and he might as well admit to himself already that his cold and dispassionate routine isn’t fooling anyone anymore. So, instead of resisting, the way he may have done before, he lets his shoulders sag forward and finds himself telling the story of Kurt’s distraught disappointment. He detaches himself from it, telling it as if he was writing it in a blank paper for an anonymous reader to enjoy. It proves difficult, though, and by the time he’s finishing his tale, he’s almost back to being angry.

“… so he was an unfair bitch about the whole thing,” he ends up saying, “which, you know, I can totally accept given the circumstances.”

“That’s not how you actually plan on leading the conversation, right? I mean, you may be right, but–”

“I _am_ right, aren’t I? Oh, what a wonderful feeling.”

“Don’t get too used to it, dude. Let’s face it; you’ll probably screw up eventually.”

Sebastian sticks his tongue out at Hunter one more time, and only gets an unimpressed look in return, complete with raised eyebrow and dismissive hand gesture. The gesture seems to be enough to remind him that he was working before Sebastian interrupted him with flying projectiles, and so he looks back at his forgotten laptop, touching the keyboard as if he intends to go back to work.

“Can I give you an honest opinion?” he asks before doing anything, looking at the screen rather than at Sebastian.

Sebastian nods, even as he also says, “Yeah, sure.”

“And you won’t be an asshole about it?”

Sebastian gives his best half-hearted shrug, and as honestly as possible, he answers, “Can’t promise that.”

Hunter just sighs, clearly implying the amount of patience it takes to be friends with Sebastian, but he doesn’t bite his tongue and instead says, “I think the two of you are being overly dramatic about this.”

“Right, you with your expertise on human relationships.”

“I’m pretty sure that counts as being an asshole, Sebastian,” Hunter tells him, pointing a finger at him as if scolding a child. He may just be doing that, with the way he has of using his full name that reminds him of a lecturing teacher. All those syllables put together had only ever felt right coming from Kurt’s parted lips, and the memory of it coupled with Hunter’s disapproval makes Sebastian twist his mouth in disgust.

“Your point being?” he questions, annoyed at what he’s sure is only perceived judgment.

Hunter shrugs, but still plows on, saying what he’s clearly been thinking for a while now. “You have this whole routine of not wanting to push each other in some direction or other, and then you’re basically crying your eyes out in different sides of the world. Wouldn’t it be easier to give your whole thing a chance already and just assume that there’s a possibility that you may screw up? It’s better than what you’ve got going now.”

Sebastian chews at the inside of his cheek, considering Hunter’s words. They manage to instill ugly anger inside him, if only because he’s trying to be his most mature self when it comes to his relationship with Kurt, and the idea that this could be easier than they’re making it be infuriates him.

“It’s not that simple,” he states.

“Could be, dude.”

Hunter’s non-chalance annoys him, as if somehow Sebastian’s inadequate and Kurt too, by association.

“I’m really trying to get this right, you know? I’m actually  _really_ trying.”

“You’re over thinking,” Hunter counters.

Sebastian groans, grouchy, bringing his hand up to his forehead and rubbing hard, not knowing if he wants to snap, cry, or just run away. Hunter may just have a point, but that doesn’t mean that he has to listen to him.

“Can’t we just agree that Kurt was mean to me?” he says, leaning forward against the countertop and looking away from Hunter as he unconsciously drums the fingers of both hands against it, the small sound adding to the soundtrack of the café. His eyes find Kurt’s picture on the wall, and quickly, before Hunter can counter his rhetorical question, he asks, “Do you know we never even took a picture together?”

“Huh?”

“Me and Kurt; not one picture together.”

Hunter doesn’t say anything, but when Sebastian looks back at him, he finds his eyes trained on him, big dark orbs that know him better than he’d like them to. He can’t quite decipher Hunter’s expression, so he lifts both his shoulders in a silent question.

“Kurt’s obviously in a bad place, and  _yes,_ he was mean to you and  _no,_ you didn’t take any pictures together, so? I already planned your wedding in my head, so you better make it happen,” is what Hunter tells him, voice adamant and steady. “I’ll get all the Warblers to sing to you, and it will be beautiful; do not play with my dreams, Smythe.”

 Sebastian can’t help an amused chuckle, and when Hunter smiles at him, a bit of smugness present in the curve of his lips, he surges forward and lightly punches his arm. “You’re a fucking idiot, and you’re entirely too invested in my relationship with Kurt.”

“What can I say? I gotta live vicariously through you, dude. Plus, Kurt’s the only boyfriend you’ve had that I actually like. _And,_ he loves Mr. Puss.”

“Hey! I thought you liked Gerard.”

“The pompous teacher? I _hated_ that guy… with his exaggerated French accent and the way he’d look at me as I was some kind of illiterate, stupid American; he put you down all the time, and all you did was drool after every word he said, it was pathetic.”

"Hey!" Sebastian complains, feeling somewhere between playful and annoyed.

His past long relationships feel so far away now that he can’t really mind it if Hunter wants to dissect them and say his truths now that they’re over. He may have a point about Gerard as well, even if he doesn’t understand what having an older, smart man be that interested in him back at the time had meant to him, a young, reckless kid who had daddy issues and too many bathroom trysts on his back. He doesn’t think he’d be able to fall into something like that these days, but then again, he’s in love and so far gone that the idea of touching someone who isn’t Kurt feels foreign and wrong.

Sebastian feels like shaking as his head, as if that could clear it of unwanted thoughts. Going down memory lane is almost unavoidable lately, what with his fingers constantly twitching for something to write about and having Hunter around, who actually knows most of his past history. That doesn’t mean that he wants to dwell on it too much. As a metaphorical way of clearing his mind, he chooses to change the subject, aiming the conversation Hunter’s way this time.

“You could be dating someone, you know?” he remarks. “I mean, you’re not entirely ugly.”

“Thank you, oh magnanimous idiot,” Hunter tells him, his posture rigid for no longer than the blink of an eye before his shoulders drop a bit and his hands find the nearly forgotten mug and settle themselves around it, as if trying to find an anchor. When Hunter begins speaking again, his tone is barely a murmur. “I’m a mess, Bas, and I still kind of miss Sarah.”

Sebastian nods, a little loss for words for a minute. He remembers Sarah, even if he hadn’t had too much time to get to know her before his big fight with Hunter had driven him away for so long. He can still paint a blurry picture of her in his head, though, a round-faced brunette with a loud voice and no filter who mouthed two swear words for every three that came out of her mouth. He’d liked her well enough, and he knows Hunter adored her.

“You could always call her,” he suggests.

Hunter shakes his head adamantly, like that’s obviously a subject he doesn’t want to broach. He gives a little shrug, though, and clarifies, “It was really bad at the end. And really, enough with the fucking nostalgia tonight, please.”

Hunter’s tone is hard and firm, not leaving breathing space for any questions, so Sebastian doesn’t chase the subject. Hunter hasn’t talked a lot about what had been going on with him for the past couple of years, but whatever small comment Sebastian has gotten has been enough to tell him that it hadn’t been good. Considering how patient Hunter has been with him and his issues, and how well things seem to be going for him now here in Paris, Sebastian’s willing to be lenient and give him the time he needs to discuss his issues if that’s what he wants. He’s already seeing a therapist, after all, and Sebastian will only be a shoulder to cry on if that’s what Hunter needs.

They’re saved from more awkward conversations by the proverbial bell, when one of the kids from their single occupied table lifts his hand so that they can supply more caffeine. Sebastian makes as if to move towards them, but Hunter stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Let me take that,” he says. “Paulette’s been teaching me French; I need the practice.”

“She has?”

“Yeah, she points at stuff and names it, I repeat, it’s awesome.”

Sebastian chuckles, happy because Hunter can go back to his usual antics in no time. He watches him go, and even spies as he tries to mumble his way through a conversation in the worst French accent he’s ever heard before. Soon enough, though, he gives up on his people watching and goes back to staring outside at the too dark street. It’s still raining, but the sound is now part of the background, almost unnoticeable. He hopes he can talk to Kurt tomorrow, but for now, he just watches the street.

 

* * *

Kurt doesn’t call the next day, or the next two, and Sebastian is in such a foul mood that he can barely put up with basic human interaction. He notices how everyone around him physically avoids him, but he can’t find it in himself to care, not when giving Kurt his space has turned into complete radio silence for half a week. Patience has never been one of his virtues, and he may be driving himself mad, along with everyone else.

Paulette, always taking on the role of caring and diligent mother, is the only one who manages to make him feel embarrassed about his own behavior by being extremely kind, rather than by punishing him. On the third day of his childish tantrum, she pats his cheek softly and sends him upstairs to his apartment to get some rest, and Sebastian goes, pouting and with his arms crossed over his chest, the perfect picture of a scolded child.

Hunter, for his part, chooses to quietly invite him to watch _Doctor Who_ with him, his newest obsession now that he’s done with _Anne’s_ novels. Sebastian indulges him, considering that all he has to do is stay quiet next to him and slap his hands away from his mouth whenever he begins biting his nails.

Five days into this routine, somewhere into the First Doctor’s tenure, Sebastian snaps, exclaiming out of the blue, “It’s been six days! Six days and he won’t call!”

Next to him, Hunter groans, his annoyance present in every little gesture of his body. “Oh my God, call him, just fucking call him already.” As if to make his point clearer, he actually reaches out for the phone that’s resting on the table before the sofa and presents it to Sebastian. “Call, now.”

“He said he needed space,” Sebastian counters, a whine hidden somewhere in his tone.

“Call now or I swear to God Sebastian we’re sending you to a nuthouse.”

Sebastian huffs, but looking at the firm set of Hunter’s eyes and the way his forehead wrinkles with determination, he takes the offered phone. Perhaps he should reconsider his whole attitude, but he’s angry and put upon, feeling left behind in the worst of ways, and he hates it considering how sure he’d been that a simple conversation would make him and Kurt be okay again just a few days ago. There’s a grim set to his lips when he grabs the phone, and it only twists into something uglier when the endless ringing on the other side sends him to voicemail. He says nothing, and hangs up.

“He won’t pick up,” he says, almost biting the words. “He’s being a stubborn jerk and he won’t pick up.”

Hunter sighs next to him, as if imbuing himself with infinite patience. He’s very obviously trying to be the voice of reason here, and Sebastian’s definitely not making the job easy. He doesn’t feel much like making people’s lives easier, though, so he says nothing.

“Maybe he’s busy or something.”

“Or maybe he’s being a stubborn jerk,” Sebastian counters immediately.

“As opposed to the wonderful human being that you’ve been for the past few days?”

“Six days, Hunt! How am I supposed to fix things if he won’t talk to me?”

Hunter begins to say something, but Sebastian doesn’t let him even start, instead going into full tantrum mode and storming out of the living room and into the stairs that lead to the café. He walks downstairs briskly, full of steam and without a clear direction, crossing the café in quick strides and doing his best to ignore Tom flinching when he walks by him. He steps outside, and a gust of cold wind hits his face and his bare arms, biting painfully into his skin. It doesn’t sober him up immediately, but it does make him stop in his tracks and put his hands over his own arms, doing his best at protecting himself from the cold. It’s not that bad anyway, not with the way winter is already starting to give way into spring, but it’s enough to make his hotheadedness die just a little bit before he goes any further.

Sebastian finds himself unconsciously patting his own pockets looking for a cigarette. It takes a minute to realize that there’s nothing to find, that he’s not the same person he was some months before and that he may have to find another way to release his frustration. He chuckles humorlessly, and nervously scratches at his own arms, finally settling his back against one of the café’s windows and resting his head back as he breathes in the cold.

It’s been a bad week, full of tantrums and his worst behavior, no matter how much optimism he had gathered when he’d thought coldly about his last discussion with Kurt. He’d been so sure that they’d talk it out in a couple of days and be back on track that he’s frustrated, not quite sure what to do with himself. He’s been doing fine at keeping himself busy, checking numbers with Hunter, trying to focus his thoughts long enough to type a decent sentence and poking his way through some of mom’s old stuff for things that he may want to keep around the café. He’s been full of memories and melancholy, and not getting to share that with Kurt has gotten to him, too.

The truth is he’s never been particularly good at waiting around, and he hates the way he left things with Kurt last time. Kurt may have been unfair and unjustified in his anger towards him, but he was clearly in a bad headspace, and Sebastian wants to yell at him for being unreasonable as much as he wants to comfort him and to listen to whatever it is that made him snap like that. Kurt not calling him suggests that he doesn’t need that kind of comfort, or that he’s still harboring unwarranted anger towards him, or maybe something worse altogether, and it’s driving Sebastian up the wall not to do anything about it.

Not truly noticing what he’s doing, Sebastian brings his thumb up to his mouth and bites at the skin, steady and mindless, until something soft falling over his face makes him stop.

“I should slap you for doing that, jerk,” Hunter tells him, his figure appearing before him only after the fabric of the sweater that he’s just thrown on him slides past Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian doesn’t say anything, and instead takes the time to put the sweater on, only realizing that it’s the one Kurt left behind for him once he has it on. “You’re so unsubtle in your messages, Hunt,” he mumbles, even while hugging his own arms over his chest and letting his fingers caress the soft fabric.

Hunter doesn’t say anything, not for a minute, but then moves until he’s settled next to Sebastian and then bumps their shoulders together before asking, “Better now?”

Sebastian shrugs, answering, “Not really.”

Silence settles back between them, only the sound of the street surrounding them. It’s midday, and even if the small side street the café is in is never very busy, it’s at his noisiest now, with a few groups of people walking by and speaking in fast French. Sebastian takes the time to breathe in the air slowly, looking at the grey buildings before him and the ground beneath his feet. He loves this city, knows that Kurt loves it too, but if the way he’s been feeling for the past few days is any indication, maybe it’s about time they found each other in a different set of stones. He doesn't say anything about what's going through his head, though, and Hunter only gives him a few more minutes before he's moving away from the window and putting his hand to Sebastian's elbow in order to pull him along.

"Come on, we'll freeze to death here."

With a sigh and a nod, Sebastian follows.

 

* * *

It's two more days before Sebastian decides that it's time to do something about the way he's been feeling, and about Kurt's radio silence. He's been calling steadily for the past two days, almost fooling himself into thinking that Kurt had picked up a few times, and he's frustrated beyond belief. He hates the waiting, and he hates feeling incapacitated and still, when he should be calling Kurt out for being so stubborn. This is the kind of thing he would pull off, but not Kurt, who is always open to discuss and dissect, who hates leaving things hanging. He can admit that he's half angry and half worried, and that he would rather anger lead his actions right now, because he doesn't know how to deal with something different.

He makes up his mind while buried under his sheets, having thrown them over his head to cover up the sun shining through the window. It's a cheating kind of a sun, a winter sun that fools one into thinking that it might just be a little warm outside when it actually isn't. It always makes Sebastian want to burrow closer into the warmth of his apartment and hide away. That's exactly what he's doing now, having even gone as far as bringing his laptop and his phone with him to his hideout, and so he finds himself staring at a half written page on a shiny screen, and holding an unanswered phone inside his closed fist. The phone is almost a bad omen, and it makes him kind of sick. The page, full of chopped words that make no sense when put together speaks volumes about his lack of focus lately.

With a put upon sigh that he's glad no one hears, he reaches out towards his laptop and closes the open document, quickly changing it for an Internet browser and a search for flights.

"I swear to fucking God, Kurt, the things I do for you..."

Not five minutes later he's up and about, happy to have his mind busy with an easy objective. He finds an old suitcase on the back of his closet, buried under shoes he doesn't even remember buying, and then sets to fill it as quickly as possible, barely even thinking. He hates packing, always has, and if he doesn't manage to pull any clothes that match into his luggage, then he guesses he'll rejoice in Kurt's complaints about his fashion sense.

He's done in almost no time, so he finds his way out of his bedroom, suitcase rolling behind him and heavy coat already on, and only stops for a minute at Hunter's door. He hesitates, considering scrawling a hurried note instead of waking him up, but then thinks better of it and just opens the door as quietly as possible. Hunter's bedroom, nothing more than a guest room until not too long ago, is so pristine that Sebastian almost feels guilty stepping inside with his shoes on. He does so anyway, and then sits down at Hunter's bed, and patiently proceeds to poke him awake.

"Hunter, hey, Hunt."

Hunter doesn't react at first, and then only mumbles something unintelligible and motions weakly as if to swat him away. Sebastian insists, though, and finally Hunter reacts and opens up his eyes.

"Wha..." he mumbles, moving up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he tries to blink them open. "Bas, wha..."

"Hunter," Sebastian whispers.

Hunter yawns noisily, his mouth opening wide and his eyes closing for a just a second before they're looking back at Sebastian, this time more aware. Hunter blinks a couple of times, and promptly says, "If this is about sex, the answer is no."

"Don't be an idiot."

Hunter just gives him a questioning look at that, clearly expecting an explanation. Sebastian figures that this is a good time as any to back out, right before he spells his plan out and feels obliged to follow through. He scratches at the back of his neck, allowing himself just one more moment to think about it, and promptly finds himself spilling the beans.

“I’m going to New York,” he mumbles. Hunter doesn’t say anything, and even if Sebastian isn’t looking at him, he can feel the raised eyebrow aimed his way. As an answer to Hunter's unspoken question, he says, “I’d rather yell at him face to face for being so stubborn than wait forever for a phone call.”

Hunter quickly counters with, “There’s something about big romantic gestures that you’re just not fully understanding.” His tone is soft, though, almost wistful.

Sebastian shrugs, just one shoulder lifting up for a second before going back down. He looks Hunter’s way, and catches a soft smile on his face. “He doesn’t deserve big romantic gestures, he’s being an unfair idiot.”

“Maybe you should give him some more time; he only missed one call.”

“Please,” Sebastian drawls, “I’ve been calling him steadily for the past two days, why do you think I’ve been so fucking angry? I’m telling you,” he remarks, lifting both hands as if that could make his point clearer. “ _Unfair idiot._ ”

“So that’s why you’re crossing an ocean for? Because he’s being an unfair idiot?”

Sebastian sighs, suddenly feeling defeated now that all the anger seems to have left his body, the lack of adrenaline and the too bright room around him making him feel physically weak. “And because I miss him,” he confesses softly. “Because maybe we need to see each other and figure things out a little more.”

Hunter reaches out, pats his shoulder with a big hand and nods. “Don’t forget to buy some flowers, too.”

Sebastian huffs. “Flowers? No flowers, I’m angry, dammit, Hunter.”

“Sure, dude,” Hunter says, almost guffawing his way through the words.

Sebastian gives him a sour smile, and then promptly voices another concern, “I haven’t left Paris since I took over the café.” The confession sits heavily on his tongue, and he can’t stop himself from looking down, almost ashamed. He presses his hand to the bedspread under him, and feels the soft fabric under his palm, letting it distract him for a moment. “I’m not sure I know how to leave this place.”

“Hey, I can manage while you’re gone.”

“You sure? We can just close up.”

“Nah…” Hunter tells him. “If we’ve survived the past week of you being a bitch, I’m sure we can make do without you.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Sebastian counters immediately, even going as far as trying to hit Hunter’s shoulder. He’s too slow, though, and not only does Hunter stop him, but he retaliates, landing a too soft punch on Sebastian’s forearm that he whines about exaggeratedly while rubbing the hurt spot.

Sebastian finds himself smiling, and he says, “I’m really out of my depth here, Hunt.” It’s a confession yet again, one that he’s not too afraid to make; he’s been feeling out of his depth ever since Kurt came back into his life. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “And I fucking _hate_ New York.”

Hunter laughs, but says, “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Sebastian sighs, nodding softly to himself. He gets up but reaches down before he can go too far away, trapping Hunter in a one armed yet tight hug.

"You'll be fine, you big softie," Hunter tells him.

Sebastian huffs, choosing not to answer, and with one last look at the room, he walks outside, picks up his suitcase and makes his way down to the café. Ginette's the one in charge this morning, and she's carrying a loaded tray when Sebastian comes down, clearly ready for travelling. She gives him a questioning look, and he just shrugs as an answer.

Ginette is the one that's been with him the longest, the first one he hired because she was strong, outspoken, and because she promised that they would never be friends, something that she still tells him from time to time. She knows what the café is to him, just as he knows how much she secretly cares about it, too.

" _Où allez-vous?"_ she asks, not even bothering to look at him.

"New York."

"Ah," she says, a small smile adorning her face. She stops what she's doing this time to walk to him, and right when she's by his side, she grabs his lapel so she can pull him down to her level and press a kiss to his cheek. " _Bonne chance, 'Bastian."_

_"Merci,"_ he whispers back. Then, as if it has just occurred to him, "And please make sure Hunter doesn't burn the place down."

She laughs throatily, and as she says  _allez, allez_ and bodily pushes him out into the street, he takes one last second to look back at the café, at the memories hanging from the walls and the hours of nostalgia buried in between the smell of coffee and the soft sounds of a chiming bell. Once he's fully outside, though, he looks forward, and with a determined bounce to his steps, he walks away, and tells himself  _well, here goes nothing._

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

Sebastian has a nearly equal share of love and hate for New York City. He can hardly plain _hate_ the place, not when the night lights that hit his face seem to be carrying life within themselves, and when noise full of dreams bustles in every corner of the concrete monster. In every aspect that matters, New York is quite spectacular; tall, huge and promising, all-encompassing and beautiful in its magnitude. Sebastian understands why people love it, why Kurt must thrive in it, why his younger self had been so enamored with the same rhythm that now manages to nearly scare him.

For every small detail about New York that he loves, though, there’s one that he hates, and every single one of them seem to be a direct counteract to everything that Paris means to him. New York is fast and flighty, and it feels unsteady under his feet, capricious in its moods, quick to adore and encumber as it is quick to bury and forget. It’s no wonder he’d been fascinated with the place once, when all he’d wanted was a quick fix of any kind: sex, drinks, nightlife and inconsequential decisions. It must be why Paris is a much better choice for him now, a place filled with history, a pillar of unwavering strength, blocks of consistency that he can hold onto.

Everything about New York is unreliable, even the anger that propels his steps as he makes his way towards Kurt’s apartment. For hours now, in between airports, plane rides and a fight through New York’s traffic in a stuffy, smelly cab, Sebastian has been stewing, feeding off on his own frustration, letting his feelings dangle inadvertently between outrage and resentment, to the point where only exasperation and impatience seem to be driving him now. He’s filled himself with righteous fury, and he has no idea of what he’s going to do. Jump on a plane, go see Kurt, fix things - it’s not a particularly well-crafted plan, much less when he’s not even sure if he wants to yell, cry or hug Kurt until he’s reminded of crevice of his body that he loves. He’s a walking bomb, but he’s hardly in a headspace that will actually make him stop and think; impulsive Sebastian at his worst, ready to plough on through anything.

When Sebastian finally reaches Kurt’s door, he’s sweating under his thick coat, the kind of humid, cold sweat that comes from running in cold weather. He’s breathing a little hard, and the scarf that he’d haphazardly woven around his neck when leaving the cab is too tight. Sebastian feels uncomfortable in his own skin, run down, tired and unsteady, but he doesn’t have the mind to stop now, and so instead of taking a moment to gather himself and put a little order in his thoughts, he just knocks on the door before him, making a point of ignoring the doorbell altogether. He hears noise behind the closed door, steps that feel too slow. Time drifts too slowly for Sebastian’s rapid beating heart, and by the time the door swings open, it feels as if he’s been waiting an eternity.

“Sebas–what? How?”

There Kurt stands, dumbfounded, cute little frown between his blue eyes. Sebastian would smile, but he’s too far gone, his sweaty hand clutching the handle of a suitcase that feels too heavy and lips twisted in something disagreeable and nasty. He’s full into attack mode, and there’s no stopping him now. It’s no surprise then, not even to his enraged mind, that the first thing that comes out of his parted lips is:

“What the hell, Kurt!?”

And suddenly, Kurt’s frown isn’t cute anymore. It’s not enough to stop Sebastian, though, not when he’s already started letting go of every bit of bottled emotion in the worst way possible. He finds himself pushing his way inside the apartment, the rolling of his suitcase too loud to his ears, uncomfortable in a way that makes him feel uninvited. Somewhere in the back of his head, he realizes that this isn’t the way he wanted to enter Kurt’s apartment for the first time.

Still, his mouth runs faster than his brain, and once inside the apartment, he exclaims yet again, raising his voice with an ill-mannered, “No, seriously, what the fuck, Kurt!?”

The shout gets lost in the silence that follows, the echo only in Sebastian’s imagination, more a feeling than a factual reality. Kurt stands before him, looking somewhat ruffled even if his clothes scream nothing but well put together, his arms crossed over his chest and his cheeks tinged red. If Sebastian’s brain was working, he’d take a moment to appreciate Kurt’s fighting stance, his squared shoulders and pursed lips, the way his usually playful, attentive eyes are cold now, steely and closed off in the gaze he’s directing right at him. He wishes, for a second, that Kurt was the kind of person to back down from a challenge.

"Go ahead then,” Kurt tells him, his tone quiet and expressionless, that of a beast ready to pounce. “You have more to say than that, Sebastian, so go for it.”

Sebastian breathes out, hard, and soon realizes that the sound is louder than intended, a harsh sort of grunt that fills the room around them. Frustration is only a fraction of what consumes him then, and he feels like taking his hands to his own head and squeezing, like some comic book villain gone mad.

“Fuck, Kurt, what do you expect me to say? I just had to jump on a fucking plane because you wouldn’t pick up your god dammed phone!”

“Oh, you just _had to,_ didn’t you?”

Kurt’s tone is so biting that Sebastian feels it physically, a stabbing knife that goes right through his stomach. He’s so used to the soft, intimate side of Kurt that to be at the receiving end of such a cold barb does nothing to appease him, making him instead feel ridiculous and childish, making a fuss over nothing at all.

“I was worried, princess,” he spits out, crossing his arms over his chest in a weak imitation of Kurt’s posture. The nickname, which had become a loving tease as their relationship developed, comes out mean-spirited now, and Sebastian wants to flinch away from it almost immediately. Kurt doesn’t give him time, though, spying the tone of the jab quickly and recoiling away from it, even going as far as taking a step back.

“Oh, yes, you look really _worried._ ”

“Don’t, Kurt, I–”

“No, you know what? I’m fine! See? Just fine!” as he says that, Kurt gestures wildly about him, arms flying around even as his posture remains stiff, contained even within its thoughtless movement, revealing just how _not fine_ he is. “If that’s all you wanted, you can go back home!” he snaps. “Don’t feel like you _have to_ do anything.”

Those last words, whispered dangerously low, feel like a sentence, and seem to be all Kurt needs to finish the discussion they’re not really having. The moment he’s done talking, he turns around and walks away and into unknown crevices of his apartment, leaving Sebastian dumbfounded and confused in the middle of the place. Alone, silent, Sebastian feels stupid. His mouth opens and closes, an unconscious tick born out of frustration and annoyance. He stares at the empty space for a while longer, not fully capable of understanding what just went down. He has an inkling that it may have a lot to do with his insane approach to the situation, but knowing that doesn’t actually make it any better.

He follows Kurt, determined. His steps clack on the wooden floor, but Sebastian realizes that the sound that covers his ears is actually his own wheezing breath, jagged and breathy as if he’d been running a marathon. He feels suddenly hot, and as he follows after Kurt towards an unknown room, he fights his way out of his coat and scarf, getting uncomfortably tangled until he pulls them off, his jacket soon following, and throws it all on the floor carelessly. He’s left in a wrinkled, sweaty, old shirt – the one that’s undefined brownish and that he knows Kurt hates – and he doesn’t actually feel more comfortable than he did before.

The room he walks into must be Kurt’s bedroom, if only because of the bed Kurt’s currently sitting on. Sebastian’s not in a headspace to actually notice his surroundings, but he does notice the contrast of a dark green bedspread to the skin of Kurt’s hand, long, thin fingers tightly bunching the material under them. Kurt’s looking down, at his slipper clad feet, and his posture is so defeated that it manages to deflate Sebastian in an instant. He hates seeing Kurt like this; proud, gorgeous Kurt, with his pointy nose always high in the air, presence unbeatable.

“Kurt,” he says, lingering, elongating his name as much as his lips allow him to. The sound gets lost between them, and is soon forgotten.

Sebastian doesn’t know what to do, whether he wants to yell or backtrack, whether he should just grab his forgotten clothes and suitcase and get back on a plane or stay and do something. He wants to do the right thing, and he hates not knowing what that is. He wishes Kurt would at least look at him.

“Please look at me,” he requests, feeling an unspoken apology linger on his tongue. He’s not quite there yet, but he wants them to somehow greet each other correctly, in a way that tells Kurt that he may be pissed off but that it doesn’t change how stupidly in love with him he is, or how much he’s missed him.

Kurt does look up then, and when he does, his mouth is curled up on one side, and his gaze, though sad, manages to somehow be fiery. It makes Sebastian smile, and he finds himself suddenly struck by a wave of pure want, lust that makes his fingers twitch. Maybe that’s what they need after all, a nice, long and lazy screw, Kurt heavy above him, his breath hot against the skin of his neck and lips, a piece of each other to hold onto before they find the right mindset to have a peaceful discussion. Kurt moves then, standing up quick and jerky, as if he’s somehow heard Sebastian’s thoughts. As he approaches, Sebastian does wonder if maybe he’s actually spoken them out loud. Kurt doesn’t jump him, though, instead just moves closer, slowly, his feet deliberate but heavy, his hands moving up and fisting Sebastian’s already wrinkled shirt before his eyes finally move up and gaze into Sebastian’s, those defying blue orbs tinged with insurmountable sadness.

“Kurt,” he whispers again, and Kurt shakes his head, as if he wants him to stop.

Sebastian’s lost, confused, but he takes his cues from Kurt, and when he reaches up and wraps himself around him, he can do nothing but follow the movement, hunching down until they’re locked in a tight hug, his arms around Kurt, hands splayed on his shoulder blades. He breathes out, suddenly realizing how much nervous energy he’d been carrying around, and finds himself desperately looking for the crook of Kurt’s neck. He buries himself there, presses his nose to the skin he finds and breathes in, and then all he can feel is Kurt, his arms around him and his body encased in his own, jagged little pieces of a puzzle that never quite seems to fit. They’re both a little too stiff, much too aware of their own bodies, of a reunion that should have been full of smiles and that isn’t, but it’s good anyway, reassuring and warm, solid in a way that only Kurt has ever been for him.

Time ticks away as they breath softly against each other, but it still doesn’t feel like enough when Kurt finally pulls back, looking up at him and pressing both hands to his shoulders, moving them up and down his arms in a nearly protective gesture.

“It’s good to see you, Sebastian,” Kurt tells him, voice tight and raspy, a little wistful as if Kurt actually finds humor in the situation.

Sebastian snorts, bites back an unstoppable laugh and his shoulders actually shake. He spies a smile on Kurt’s lips, even if his eyes are tinged with unshed tears. It feels like a moment of reprieve before some inevitable downfall, and Sebastian cherishes it for what it is. At least they can still laugh together, if only for a minute.

“I’m sorry I barged in like that,” Sebastian says, feeling free enough to let the apology go. He may have been unstoppably angry, but he’s self-aware enough to know that he’s not the best at starting discussions in an actual conductive way.

Kurt shakes his head, silently accepting the apology even as he steps back, leaving Sebastian’s body bereft and suddenly cold. Sebastian goes back to feeling uncomfortable in an instant, his discomfort at his wrinkled clothes and tired limbs making an immediate comeback. Kurt turns his back to him, and Sebastian watches him look about him, and then start moving around the room. He spies him taking his slippers off and exchanging them for shoes, but before he can wonder what Kurt’s doing, he beats him to the punch by asking:

“Did you wear that shirt because you know I hate it?”

Sebastian chuckles humorlessly. He shrugs, even if Kurt’s busy tying his shoes and can’t actually see him. “Maybe,” he concedes. He watches Kurt shake his head, as if he can’t quite believe his most childish streak. After a moment of watching him, though, fingers flying over too complicated buckles, he asks, “Kurt, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I have to go,” he says, mindlessly, now moving to his closet so he can pull what looks like too bright fabric out of it. Sebastian takes a moment to contemplate him and the outfit he’d thought already too put together. Kurt’s donning a vest now, though, and if he knows him well enough there’s probably still a scarf and a blazer missing to complete the look. It’s too much clothing, and Sebastian feels suddenly stifled, staring at Kurt’s entirely too energetic and manic movements.

“You have to go?” he questions, swallowing the hurt confusion in his voice. _Where can he possibly want to go now?_

“Uh, work,” he answers, trying to pretend that it's something obvious, and not looking directly at Sebastian. “I know it’s–well, anyway, are you hungry? There’s not a lot of food around, maybe you can order something? Or–”

“Kurt, you’re actually _leaving_ right now?” And his tone is not confused anymore, but downright aggravated. He’d thought they were over the awkward phase of the evening by now, but he was clearly wrong.

Kurt stops moving then, and it only manages to increase Sebastian’s awareness of how agitated he actually looks. He wonders, briefly, if showing up here isn’t the worst idea he’s ever had; Kurt looks as if sharing a room with him is the last thing he wants to be doing right now, welcoming hug notwithstanding.

“I have to go to work,” Kurt spells out for him, defiant. “It's just a short gig.”

“And you can’t cancel?”

“It’s _work._ ”

“And I just _got here._ ”

Kurt scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a nearly petulant gesture. Somehow, it feels more familiar than his jumpy behavior from a few moments ago, like something Sebastian can handle.

“Well,” Kurt counters. “I didn’t know that, now did I?”

“Oh well, excuse me, maybe I should just go back to the airport right now.”

“Oh my God, Sebastian!” Kurt exclaims, his arms now stiff at his sides, his hands fisted tightly. “You can’t just ask me to stop all my life for you!”

Right after the statement Kurt grunts an exasperated  _ugh_ as he brings his hand up to his face, fingers pressing against his tired eyes. Sebastian watches detachedly, taking a step back at Kurt’s steady utterance of his last statement; he’s talking about so much more than just this particular visit, and the thought is scary, frenziedly so. The tone in Kurt’s voice suggests what Sebastian has been trying to avoid thinking about all this time: the idea that they’re breaking up, that they’ve been recklessly holding onto something that can’t be real, that will never happen. Well, Kurt’s right after all:  _he can’t ask him to stop all his life for him._

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt mumbles suddenly, forcing Sebastian to sharply focus back on him, and on the steps he’s taking to invade his personal space yet again. “I’m sorry, ok?” he repeats, and this time the words are whispered into Sebastian’s neck. Kurt reaches out, touches his shoulders and his arms, travels over Sebastian’s chest with his hands until he settles on Sebastian’s own, tangling their fingers.

“Hey,” Kurt calls, soft, managing to make Sebastian finally look at his eyes. “You’re angry, I get it, and maybe I’m sort of angry, too, and if I don’t go right now and do my thing we’re going to end up yelling at each other–”

“We’re not going to–”

“Be real, Sebastian, there _will be_ yelling.” Kurt smiles, just a sigh of humor in the curl of his smile. _I know us so well,_ his lips are saying. “You’re tired, and I’m far too wired, so let’s take a moment. Please? Take a shower, eat something, get some sleep; I’ll be back in no time; please?” And now Kurt is pleading, as if talking to a wild, untamed animal. Sebastian must have been harsher than he’d meant to, if Kurt is treading so carefully with him.

He breathes in slowly, as if beginning one of Hunter’s weird yoga exercises, and let’s his eyes wander around the room for a moment before they go back to Kurt’s. He nods, a barely noticeable movement of his head. Kurt’s right, he’s always right, but Sebastian’s chest feels entirely too tight and he doesn’t think he can tell him so. Kurt does offer a smile, though, and rather than parting immediately, he moves closer so he can press a kiss to Sebastian’s cheek, his dry lips leaving the whisper of an imprint on his skin. It’s too little, but Sebastian’s shoulders relax, reacting to Kurt’s touch as if it was balm.

“You smell so nice,” Kurt informs him, his breath damp against his cheek. “I mean, you’ve been in a plane for hours, how do you still smell so nice?”

Sebastian manages a smile, and he reaches out for Kurt, hoping his touch carries the same reassurance back to him. He finds his waist and squeezes softly. “Part of my superhero powers,” he murmurs.

Kurt barely hums at that, staying close to him enough time for Sebastian to close his eyes and picture himself in the happy reunion they both deserve, instead of the mess he just threw them into.

Kurt moves away eventually though, stopping one more time to say, “I’ll be three hours tops, ok? Make yourself at home.”

He lingers, just one more moment, and they look at each other, no more than eight steps between them. It feels like too much and it somehow manages to be more painful than them being in different continents.

Kurt does leave then, and Sebastian is left alone in an apartment that feels both foreign and familiar. Without looking around a lot, he can imagine Kurt here, comfortable among seemingly mismatched furniture that has probably been picked out carefully, piece by piece, to form a quirky yet lovely balance, something that speaks volumes about who Kurt is. Sebastian’s clothes, haphazardly thrown on the floor in a feat of irritation, look out of place, just as the suitcase he’d left in the middle of the living room. He realizes that he’s the one that’s out of place, uninvited and invasive, a forceful guest in Kurt’s home.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, but the empty apartment doesn’t answer back.

He’s entirely too tired, and being here without Kurt isn’t doing anything for his mood. Kurt may have been right in his reasons for leaving, but Sebastian feels dissatisfied and irrational, his anxieties no less stressful than they were during his trip, and the sudden realization that his relationship with Kurt may be facing an end all too soon only managing to install a heavy weight on the back of his head. His head hurts, though, and there’s not a lot he can do about it right now, so he chooses to be practical about this and try and get some rest.

He picks up after himself, foregoing the impulse of going through Kurt’s stuff and simply getting himself under the welcome spray of the shower. He gives into his most shameful instincts and uses Kurt’s body lotion and shampoo, surrounding himself in the familiar scent and pretending that he doesn’t have a care in the world. By the time he leaves the shower, he feels boneless, so he throws on some sweatpants and lies down on the too short couch, consciously avoiding Kurt’s bed. He wonders how he looks, tiny and weary on an strange couch, but shakes the feelings away; he needs to stop with the pity party. He needs rest, and then he needs to talk to Kurt like an actual human being, so he closes his eyes, and soon enough drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

Sleep comes and goes in waves, exhaustion beating the uncomfortable position he finds himself in for small amounts of time that leave him dazed and gloomy, not quite sure of how much time has actually passed. The truth is, if Sebastian was any less stubborn, he would have given in ages ago and would have just moved to the bed, instead of insisting on trying to catch some sleep in a sofa that’s too small for him and that has a loose spring that keeps digging into his ribcage. He hasn’t even found himself a blanket, and he’s freezing on top of that, but he’ll be dammed if he lets the circumstances get to him now.

He receives a text at some point, and the sound of his cell phone is so foreign and discomforting that he actually moves, a whiny groan that gets lost inside the room following his slow and sleepy limbs as he reaches for his discarded coat, the pocket of which hides his phone. It’s already dark outside, and the bright screen has him squinting.

_From: Hunter_

_Dude, you alive?_

_From: Hunter_

_Hope you’re alive._

_From: Hunter_

_And ok._

_From: Hunter_

_And that you didn’t ruin it._

_From: Hunter_

_Think of my dream wedding, man!_

The string of messages actually makes him grin with affection, even if his first reaction is a snort of contempt. He answers the messages with a sort and untruthful  _everything ok, idiot,_ and tries to find sleep yet again.

He doesn’t hear Kurt return, but in one of his half awake spells, some puttering reaches his ears and alerts him of his presence. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to hold onto his sleep just for a while longer, knowing that his eyes will be sticky and tired, and that his limbs are going to make him curse the moment he moves from his actual position, with both his legs bent awkwardly over the arm of the couch, and his neck thrown back entirely too much with the way he’s smashed his head in one of the sofa’s corners.

He hears what he thinks might be the sliding of clothes, and later on the pouring of cereal and milk on a bowl. It’s comforting, somehow, Kurt’s presence in such a domestic atmosphere.

Eventually, Kurt starts moving again, and the cluttering of dishes is soon followed by steps, and then Kurt’s sitting on the sofa, resting in the small space Sebastian’s bent knees are leaving free. Sebastian pictures him, sitting stiffly on the edge of his own sofa, looking at Sebastian’s prone form with something Sebastian hopes is somewhere close to affection. It’s stupid, he knows, picturing Kurt when he could very well be looking at him, but no one ever said that he was anywhere near rational when physically making an effort to remain stubborn.

“Sebastian, I know you’re awake,” Kurt whispers. “Come on, I know there’s a spring in that couch that has to be digging somewhere uncomfortable; I’ve been meaning to buy a new one for ages.”

Sebastian remains still, silently hating that Kurt seems to be able to chase his thoughts so very easily. Kurt gives it a brief moment, and then he’s huffing, annoyed.

“ _Fine,_ be a child like that. I’m gonna–Jesus Christ, Sebastian, you’re freezing!”

Whatever Kurt was initially going to say gets immediately replaced by his exclamation, which follows his hand resting softly on Sebastian’s forearm. He’s wearing a thin, short-sleeved t-shirt, and if the heat of Kurt’s hand against his skin is any indication, he must indeed be entirely too cold.

“God,” Kurt utters next to him, and Sebastian feels the frustration pouring out of his tone in just that short word. He huffs yet again, and after quickly getting up, he comes back and throws something over Sebastian. It’s a big, thick blanket, soft to the touch, and Sebastian barely has the mind to stay in his stubborn stillness instead of burrowing inside the warm embrace of the fabric.

“Sebastian Smythe,” Kurt says, now very obviously standing beside him. His tone brings to mind a fed up teacher, and Sebastian hides a smile against the sofa’s cushion. “I swear,” Kurt continues, “you’re the most stubborn and annoying little–little–little _meerkat_ I have ever met!”

That steals a laugh out of Sebastian, big and loud, even if muffled by the cushions of the sofa. The old epithet that Kurt threw at him once, somewhere back in their past where they could have never dreamed of finding each other again, brings instant fondness to Sebastian’s chest, and he finds himself unable to stay buried in his unshakable attitude. He unbends himself as best as he can, stretching his limbs as he goes and carrying the soft blanket with him until he’s sitting down on the couch, feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor and warm fabric around his arms and shoulders.

Looking up even while rubbing his eyes, he questions, “Meerkat, really?”

Kurt huffs, obviously somewhere between annoyed and amused, and mumbles a quietly petulant _well, you are_ as he moves to sit next to him, knocking their knees together. He leans his head on Sebastian’s shoulder for a too long beat, and then moves back, as if he’s not sure whether he wants to be affectionate or not. Tiredness is easy to spy in his gaze once he looks into Sebastian’s eyes, but he doesn’t let it stop him, and instead reaches up to caress Sebastian’s eyebrow with his thumb, the rest of his fingers resting easily against his cheek.

“Ugh, look at your tired little face,” Kurt intones, his voice whisper soft.

Sebastian’s not particularly sure he deserves the fondness in Kurt’s tone, but he takes whatever he’s given, and he openly leans into the touch, closing his eyes and allowing himself a small sigh. They stay there for a long couple of minutes, and Sebastian finds himself thinking of their distant past, of just how long he’d spent looking in the mirror after Kurt’s more pointed barbs back in high school, reassuring himself that he didn’t look like a meerkat, that he didn’t have horse teeth, that his hair was just fine. Kurt may have been just an afterthought back then, but he’d always had a certain insight into Sebastian’s character that even then had been disturbing.

“What are you thinking about?” Kurt wonders quietly, breaking the spell of the moment by moving his hand down Sebastian’s face and letting it rest on the back of his neck for a moment before moving away completely.

“You said I had horse teeth,” Sebastian informs him. “A less arrogant teenager would have been destroyed by that.”

Kurt smiles, perhaps a tad of nostalgia creeping into the shape of his lips, but he says nothing in return. Sebastian lets the moment go, and after a cough to clear his very obviously raspy throat, he asks:

“How was work?”

Kurt shrugs. “Good, ok,” he answers. “I’m a little tired.”

Sebastian nods, wondering where they’re supposed to go from here. Perhaps getting some sleep and waiting till the morning before they have any more heavy conversations would be the best way to go, or maybe they should just get it over with. Sebastian’s still a little dazed from his uneven sleep, jet-lag weighting heavily on him, but he’s clear minded enough, and at least not feeling like the world owes him something, the way he’d been at his arrival.

In the end, Kurt’s the one to decide for him, a pattern that’s been repeating itself ever since they met. Kurt was the one to finally give in and kiss him, after all, while Sebastian was still wondering what the right way to go about his crush was. This time, there’s no kiss, but merely Kurt offering him a folded piece of paper. Sebastian takes it from him and opens it, squinting his eyes so he can read in the lightless atmosphere of the room. He guesses they could turn on a lamp rather than do this by moonlight, but he likes that he can stare at Kurt’s shape in the grayish light, making him seem dream-like and soft, intimate in that way they know how to be with each other.

The content of the paper is easy to decipher, anyway, and Sebastian realizes that what he’s looking at is a plane ticket from New York to Paris, except that–

“Kurt, this is for last week.”

Sebastian looks at him, but there are no eyes looking back. Kurt’s gaze is directed at his own hands instead, fingers that are busy circling an invisible ring, and tapping a mindless rhythm. Sebastian wonders if Kurt’s been this anxious since he showed up this afternoon, and if he’s only noticing now that he’s not so wrapped up in his own righteous brooding. He wants to hold those fingers still, make them stop, give them something steady to hold on to, but he lets Kurt be for now, waits him out for as long as he needs. There’s clearly an explanation coming, and Sebastian doesn’t want to push.

“I had this grand plan,” Kurt informs him eventually, voice whispery but steady. “I was going to wait until after Blaine’s wedding, and then I was going to leave for Paris, surprise you, find something to do there and be happy ever after or whatever.”

“What happened?” Sebastian questions, doing his best at ignoring the way his heart seems adamant on punching its way out his chest at the mere idea that Kurt has at least truly considered going back to him.

Kurt shrugs for an answer, though, not disinterested but not particularly keen on explaining himself either. They’ve already started this, though, so there’s no point in delaying it anymore.

“Was it because we fought? Right after the wedding? Did that stop you?”

“No, no, no,” Kurt assures immediately, a flitting touch of his fingers to Sebastian’s temple bringing him out of his hunched posture. “I was already way gone by the time we talked,” he confesses. “The wedding and seeing everyone from high school was lovely, but I always end up feeling like an insecure sixteen year old when we all get together; it’s some kind of disturbing regression.”

He moves his hand up and away, as if dismissing the feeling, and Sebastian chooses not to anchor the conversation on it when he watches Kurt gnawing at his lower lip, something else clearly in his mind. He feels like having a few choice words with his friends, but he can’t help but feel that their own history back in high school, no matter how inconsequential, may have been at the front of Kurt’s mind the past few days.

After letting out a loud breath, Kurt tells him, “I may have been… a little irrational when we talked after the wedding.”

“You _think_?”

“I’m trying to apologize, jerk,” Kurt says. “I was unfair, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Sebastian twists his mouth into an ugly grimace, and says, as appeasing as he can manage. “Do you really feel that way, Kurt? That sounded like a paint by the numbers apology, babe.”

“I do, honestly.”

“I still don’t get why you didn’t ask me to come.”

Kurt looks away, and then back at him at the same time he moves back, sitting more comfortably on the sofa, even slouching a little bit once his back connects with the cushions. “I’m not sure; I think maybe a part of me was scared you wouldn’t show up if I did.”

“Really? You think I’m _that_ kind of asshole? Wow, babe.”

“Don’t be angry, not at that,” Kurt counters, right before Sebastian’s feeling can wade back into dangerous territory. “That’s not on you. That’s just me and the insecurities I’m never going to get over, ok?”

Sebastian sighs, leaning forward and rubbing his temple in quick, jerky movements. He doesn’t know how to fix this, how to fix  _Kurt,_ and he’s not even sure he’s supposed to try. He feels like punching stuff, though, punching  _people_ , and also like taking Kurt into his arms and never letting go.

“And the radio silence?” he wonders, finally, choosing to keep the conversation going.

“I did ask you for some space.”

Sebastian looks straight at Kurt, lifting one shoulder and turning his neck in an uncomfortable position so he can _really look._ Kurt’s completely serious, and Sebastian’s still a little angry, so he affirms, rather than question, “So I shouldn’t have come here at all.”

Kurt actually shrugs at that, and whatever it is that he spies in Sebastian’s expression has him moving forward to press his sweaty, warm palm to Sebastian’s cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he intones. “It _is,_ ” he repeats, and whether the reassurance is for himself or for Sebastian they’ll never know. “I just–I just–It’s not always easy to talk to you.”

“What?” Sebastian snaps, unapologetic about his harsh tone this time. “’Cause I thought that’s what we were good at, throwing shit at each other and getting over our stubborn selves.”

“And we are, but…” Kurt dwindles, sways a bit, looks away and then down, the picture of defeated anxiety. Finally, he moves back against the sofa, breaking his contact with Sebastian’s cheek and leaving him feeling stripped. “I’m such a mess, Sebastian,” he says finally, and even when the semi-darkness of the room doesn’t let Sebastian spy the wetness of his eyes, his tone betrays him, breaking his voice in the middle of his name. “Everything’s going so well for you, with the café, and the writing and Hunter and I feel–I feel so… inadequate. Like something’s wrong, like I’m not good enough, and I just–”

“Kurt, it’s not a fucking competition.”

“I know!” he exclaims, his voice louder than it’s been all night. It feels disruptive, and both of them jump slightly on their seats. “It’s not your fault, either, but you look so happy and so handsome, and I miss you so much, but everything feels _wrong_ somehow, and…”

“Hey, hey, hey, Kurt, calm down.”

He doesn’t. Instead, a sob breaks out of him, something bottled up and ugly, gurgling out of his throat even as he tries to cover it with a cough. Proud, strong Kurt, who hates crying in front of people. Sebastian doesn’t let him shy away from the pain, though, and instead reaches out silently into his space until Kurt gives in and hides his face against his chest, resting easily inside the embrace Sebastian offers.

With a wry smile, Sebastian tries leading with a joke, and says, “So this is all because I’m too handsome, then?”

Kurt actually laughs, a bubbly snort that breaks his tears. “Yeah,” he mumbles, moving his head up and looking at Sebastian as he reaches with his forearm to rub his nose and eyes inelegantly. “It’s your devilish beauty that’s the problem.”

“Hasn’t it always been?” Sebastian sighs, overdramatizing his question by putting a hand to his chest.

The small moment gives them a breather, just a rest stop in the looping conversation that feels headed to a very particular resolution. Sebastian holds onto it, lingers in it for as long as Kurt allows him to, which is just as long as he allows himself to wallow in self-pity. He’s quick to dry his tears, never mind the still present wetness of his eyes, or the way his chest still rises and falls too quickly, the movement nearly hypnotic. Sebastian loves this about Kurt; the way he picks himself up, how he lets himself crumble for no longer than a beat before moving on, but he wishes he had a bit of mercy on them just this once.

“I had… I had my grand romantic plan,” Kurt informs him, resetting their positions until he’s leaning back against the couch, his elbow resting on its arm and his cheek leaning on his open palm. He looks almost casual, so Sebastian follows suit and throws himself against the back of the couch, resting his side on it so he can turn towards him and pay him his full attention.

“So, there was the grand plan,” he prompts. “Go back to Paris, be happy forever, right?”

Kurt nods, bites his lip. Then, he starts talking. “Yes. Except that’s not an actual plan, you see.” He closes his eyes, presses them tightly together, as if he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. He faces the music, though, and with big, open eyes, he looks straight into Sebastian’s and says, “I love you so very much, Sebastian; so _very much_ ,” he says, firm yet soft, completely honest. “I can’t have my whole happiness depending on you, though.”

“I… I understand that?”

“Do you really? Because people say they do, and then they don’t and they get angry.”

Sebastian finds himself nodding almost immediately. He  _does_ understand, knows himself that his own life is so much more than just being in love with someone, that a relationship built in co-dependence in unsustainable, and that Kurt is too ambitious to be happy without pursuing his dreams, whatever those may be. He’d thought that was something he could do in Paris, but maybe he can’t and Sebastian’s been unfair in asking him to move to the other side of the world for him. His own move to New York has never even been a topic up for discussion, so he can hardly ask Kurt to choose something that he would never choose for himself. He doesn’t say any of that, though, instead just reaches out for Kurt’s hand, tangles their fingers together.

“I’m just so lost,” Kurt tells him. “And so scared.” It’s a painful confession, something that feels heavy coming from Kurt’s mouth. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t picking up the phone, because he didn’t want to have to admit that, because he didn’t want to put a death sentence to what they have, because he didn’t want to admit that they’re about to be beaten by something as rational and common as circumstances.

Sebastian leans forward, into Kurt, and presses a small kiss to his temple. He stays there, close, nose in Kurt’s hair and breath warm against his skin. He should spell out his thoughts, but he remains stubbornly tight lipped, not wanting to voice the conclusion they both know is already foregone; the moment he leaves New York, they will have said their final goodbye, their hearts be damned. They’re going out with a whimper, rather than with a bang, and now for the first time Sebastian wonders whether it would have been better to say a definite goodbye back in Paris, rather than drag themselves through the mud like this.

“It’s all your fault, you know?” Kurt mumbles eventually, half a smile curving the corner of his mouth when Sebastian moves away just so he can look at him with a carefully raised eyebrow. “Everything,” Kurt remarks. “I was going to go to Paris, and love it and enjoy the experience, and then I was going to come back home thinking nostalgically about Europe but  _oh so glad_ to be back. You happened, though, and now look at us.”

Sebastian answers the statement with a smile, wryly happy that Kurt’s tone is almost teasing, and carefully devoid of regret. “You’re one to talk, encouraging me to make changes when I was so happy wallowing in my own misery.”

Kurt inhales sharply at that, as if surprised. Sebastian’s surprised himself, revealing out loud for the first time exactly what the catalyst for how well his life is going now actually was. He’d thought it was obvious that Kurt’s the one that helped him move forward, but maybe to Kurt – lost, scared Kurt – it wasn’t that obvious. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, so he covers the confession with a cough, and promptly adds playfully:

“So basically, it’s all your fault that now I live with a cat and a color coded system of kitchen appliances. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Kurt laughs, not humorlessly but a clear pearl of laughter, and Sebastian can’t help but join. When the sound subsides, Kurt’s left looking at him with eyes still red-rimmed but full of fondness, so he calls it a victory.

“I’m sorry I came all the way here and yelled at you,” Sebastian tells him.

“And I’m sorry I wouldn’t pick up the phone,” Kurt counters, squeezing the hand that he’s still holding. “I’m really tired,” he confesses, then. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“In an actual bed? I don’t know, babe, me and that spring in your sofa were getting pretty close.”

Kurt snorts indelicately, getting up with a fast little jump and steering himself towards his bedroom. “Suit yourself, but the bed’s warmer.”

Sebastian smiles, and soon enough he’s trailing after Kurt like an overenthusiastic puppy. If there’s something that sounds like heaven right now, that’s falling asleep next to Kurt. They get into bed quietly, and wordlessly press close together, Kurt’s back to his chest and their limbs tangled in a way that’s entirely too familiar for people who’ve spent the last hour discussing what can only be described as a wordless break-up. Sebastian can hardly blame himself or Kurt for wanting to indulge, though, and he figures that if this time is all they have left, they might as well make the best of it.

“Sebastian?” Kurt whispers not too long after they’ve settled down.

“Yeah?”

“Did you use my shampoo?”

Sebastian, hiding a grin against Kurt’s shoulder, answers with, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Idiot,” Kurt counters fondly. Then, “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

It’s the last thing they say before drifting off to sleep, Sebastian’s childish smile still pressed to the skin of Kurt’s back.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian wakes up to the sound of pattering rain, and for a sleepy few minutes, he feels disoriented. The poor grey light streaming in through the window makes him feel like he’s back home, and it takes him a moment to put the events of the last couple of days together. When he does, he groans. Then, he finds himself looking around lazily, and almost immediately misses Kurt’s presence on the bed. The sheets next to him are rumpled and still warm, though, so he hopes Kurt hasn’t been gone for long. He burrows into the warmth, indulging in his own weariness, and plants his face on Kurt’s pillow just so he can catch the last lingering traces of his scent. He hums, content.

He finally drags himself out of bed, following the sounds coming from the kitchen. The apartment’s small and crowded, so it doesn’t take him long to get there and find Kurt muttering curses around a coffee machine that looks too old to be functional. Sebastian smiles, settling himself with his hip against the table that separates kitchen from living room, and stares. Kurt must have a heard him, but he doesn’t acknowledge him, so Sebastian, much like he’d done minutes before while still in bed, chooses to indulge himself.

The apartment looks nicer in the morning light, even if it’s grayish. Sebastian’s always been a sucker for a tiny, personal place highlighted by looming clouds outside anyway, and the rain outside only makes him want to burrow under a blanket with Kurt and never come out. It’s a nice thought, and it has him looking at Kurt with fondness, his chest a little tight with emotion. Last night had been a rollercoaster, and he’s happy that no matter what, they can have this quiet morning together.

Kurt looks comfortable this morning, loose sweatpants and a comfy-looking sweater that keeps falling off one shoulder, and a little triumphant smile adorning his face once he gets the coffee machine to work. Kurt always looks handsome, but Sebastian prefers him like this, when his warrior-like layers abandon him in favor of soft fabrics and light colors, outside signs that he trusts whoever it is that gets to see him in a position that is just a sigh away from vulnerable. This is the sight that matches the mental image of Kurt that’s permanently inked in Sebastian’s head, careful yet honest smile, uncombed hair, the visible skin of a shoulder driving him nuts with desire. It’s like this that Sebastian finds Kurt at his sexiest, when he’s not even trying.

Not feeling particularly inclined to bite his tongue and fight his instincts this morning, Sebastian says, “You look really fucking sexy right now.”

Kurt wrinkles his nose in that adorable way that’s so inherently  _Kurt_ that it makes Sebastian smile. It’s a shy little expression that seems to want to ask an incredulous  _really?_ and that never fails to make Sebastian want to put his arms around Kurt and hold on. Not that he needs a lot of motivation to want that usually. The nose twitch is followed by Kurt’s nervous fingers drumming against the countertop, and then sliding silently together. It’s a nervous tick, one of many that Sebastian has learnt Kurt has. He knows what it looks like when Kurt’s thinking of his dad or Blaine, and he finds himself wondering if Kurt has developed one for him, a particular anxiety attached to the thought of Sebastian. It makes him wonder, too, if maybe that’s all he is in Kurt’s life, a new source of panic and pressure. The thought darkens his mood, much more so when the next words fall from Kurt’s mouth.

“I’m not sure of where we stand right now.”

_On the brink of a break-up,_ Sebastian thinks. He doesn’t say it, though, resists the thought until he can send it to the back his head and pretend that it doesn’t exist. He figures they deserve at least a couple more days of pretending.

Sebastian moves then, walks to where Kurt is still drumming his fingers and stands behind him, far too close for it to be casual but not touching him. His hands hover then, undecided and shaky until Kurt lets a sigh go, a broken sound of defeat that is quickly followed by Kurt moving an inch back so he can rest his body against Sebastian’s chest. Then Sebastian does move, resting his fingers idly on Kurt’s hips, and then dragging them up so he can grasp at Kurt’s hands. They don’t tangle their fingers, instead pressing their open-palmed hands together, his resting over Kurt’s. It’s impossibly intimate, a gesture that speaks of who they are together.

Only then, does Sebastian admit, “Neither am I.”

He cheats, though, whispering the confession to Kurt’s ear and bending down the next second to put his lips on its underside, a dry kiss meant to shush any more discouraging thoughts. Kurt allows him the maneuver, playing the fool and giving in by resting all his weight against him, seemingly melting into Sebastian’s slightly taller frame. Sebastian looses a breathy  _Kurt_ against his skin, and then he finds himself kissing down his neck and his shoulder, lingering on well-known spots but exploring them as if it was the first time. It feels a little bit like it is, with how long they’ve been apart.

Kurt doesn’t stop him, rather encourages him by resting the back of his head on his shoulder and effectively elongating his own neck, so all Sebastian can see is creamy, unblemished skin before him, a whole field of softness for him to kiss with eager lips. They tangle their hands then, but rather than staying like that, Kurt guides him so he’s resting his open palms on his stomach, under the sweater he’s wearing so Sebastian is touching cold skin. He wraps his arms tighter around Kurt, bringing his hands deeper under his clothes and resting them on his sides, warming up the skin he can reach.

Kurt throws his own arm back, putting it around Sebastian’s neck so he can reach his head and tread his fingers through his uncombed hair, grasping tightly when the movement makes Sebastian’s lips go from kissing to sucking lightly on his skin.

“You’re impossible,” Kurt informs him breathily, even as his hands clenches and unclenches in his hair intermittently.

“You can stop me anytime, babe,” Sebastian counters, his words whispered to the hollow of Kurt’s throat.

“No, shut up. Kiss me.”

Sebastian can’t help but chuckle at Kurt’s orders, his tone bossy and playful in that way Sebastian loves. Sebastian doesn’t have time to follow instructions, though, since Kurt takes things into his own hands by turning around within Sebastian’s embrace, and chasing his lips until they're kissing. Sebastian breathes into it, smiles at the sound of their wet mouths meeting, and can’t help but moan when Kurt leads with his tongue, parting his mouth easily and making an actual shiver run up his spine. Sometimes he forgets how good they’re at this part. Kurt’s quick to remind him, though, biting at his lower lip and pulling teasingly the moment he gets the chance, and then pushing their lips together again, his hands buried in Sebastian’s hair and moving him however he wants to.

Sebastian pushes against Kurt, pressing the small of his back to the countertop behind him and crawling up his spine with his hands, just so he can bring them down again, nails soft against Kurt’s skin. Kurt’s whimpery moan and jagged utterance of _Sebastian_ against his wet lips feels like surrender, and Sebastian gives into it along with Kurt.

That is, of course, the exact moment the world outside decides to catch up with them, and it does so with the irritating sound of Kurt’s doorbell. Kurt doesn’t pay attention at first, and Sebastian follows his lead and doesn’t abandon his lips, his wet, wonderful lips that he hasn’t tasted in entirely too long. For a glorious few seconds, Sebastian thinks they’re going to get away with it, but the illusion is soon broken when a voice bellows:

“Kurt! Kurt, come on! Brunch! You promised!”

“Oh, God,” Kurt mutters, as if he’s only now remembering that there are actual living people outside this apartment.

“ _Kurt!_ ”

“Coming!”

Kurt disentangles himself from Sebastian with an annoyed grunt, and not ten steps later he’s opening the door for none other than Rachel Berry herself, froffy polka-dotted dress swishing as she walks inside as if she owned the place. She parts her mouth, but whatever it is that’s on her mind clearly gets hijacked the moment she spots Sebastian, all bed head and abused lips, standing there with an amused smirk.

“But that’s…” she begins, trailing off and merely pointing a finger his way.

“Greetings, Mrs. Berry.”

Immediately, Kurt whirls around to add another pointed finger. “Not a word, you.”

Offended, Sebastian counters with a whiny, “But, babe!”

“Hush,” Kurt replies, his hand moving down and then restlessly up again, so he can rub at his suddenly frowned face. This is clearly not how he planned to have them meet again, if he was planning that at all.

Thankfully, though, Rachel interrupts yet again with, “But I thought you made that up,” she says.

“Made what up?”

“The Sebastian thing, of course,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Kurt stares at her with his eyes half-closed, in a way that suggests that he may be reconsidering their whole friendship. “Why the hell would I make that up, Rachel?”

“Well,” she says, making a pause to flick her hair behind her shoulder and add the effect of a big revelation. What she says next is, “Well, since I rekindled my relationship with Jesse, I figured you were a little jealous and made up a rendezvous of your own.”

“Rachel, that’s insane,” Kurt counters, so very obviously used to this particular side of his friend that his annoyance isn’t even a little bit filled with anger. “Also, you haven’t rekindled anything, you just fucked him backstage while _his girlfriend_ waited outside.”

“ _Kurt!_ ” she exclaims, thankfully ignoring the surprised chuckle Sebastian can’t help but let go. “One _can’t_ stop the paths of true love.”

That grants Rachel another chuckle from Sebastian, who finds himself suddenly facing two very different pair of eyes trained on him with intention – Rachel, obviously glaring; Kurt, somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“Sorry, not a peep from me,” he says, the smirking curve of his mouth betraying his delight.

Rachel hums disapprovingly, but she’s quick to recover and throw her shoulders back, her posture the definition of defiance. “Anyway, we’re late for brunch already and Elliott’s waiting. You can bring your boyfriend.”

“Right, I…” Kurt starts, the hint of biting teeth adorning his lower lip. “We’ll just be a minute, ok?” he says towards Rachel, his tone managing to be somewhat apologetic. Then, he turns Sebastian’s way and pointing a long finger at him says, “You. Bedroom. Now.”

After that, he trudges his way to the bedroom himself, not looking back and clearly expecting Sebastian to quietly follow his orders. He does, of course, but not before he can wave playful fingers Rachel’s way and smirk his way through an amused  _toodles, Mrs. Berry._ He walks into the bedroom with a smile, surprisingly delighted at the blast from the past; he's a walking and breathing scandalous story in her eyes, and the thought pleases him immensely.

He chooses not to comment on it, though, and when he faces Kurt again, what he says is, “Very forceful, darling. Super hot.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, instead almost literally jumping him and planting a hard kiss on his lips, hands firm on the back of his neck. Sebastian manages a sound that comes out as a muffled  _humph_ and goes along with Kurt’s delicious lips as they turn the kiss into a deep, wet and hot affair.

“Fuck,” he says the moment they break apart. “That’s… yeah.” He blinks a couple of times, and then looks at Kurt, solid between his arms, and thinks that he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Hey, what are your plans?” Kurt questions softly.

“Plans?”

“Are you staying or…?”

“Well,” Sebastian says, stopping himself from scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I literally jumped on the first plane to New York; planning ahead is not a particular talent of mine.”

Kurt smiles up at him, fond. “Stay?” he requests. “For a couple of days at least? We have to talk, and we also have to…” he lingers, flexes his hands where they’re still resting against Sebastian’s neck, and with a flickering and nowhere near surreptitious look at his bed, continues with, “We also have to _not talk._ ”

Sebastian actually sniggers, and only stops when Kurt looks at him, berating.

“I want you to meet my friends,” Kurt continues. “We can do brunch, and a walk, and talking and not talking, and… I just. It’s so nice that you’re here, and I just…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Kurt,” he says, the most brilliant and genuine smile he has sported in months blooming on his face. “Of course, babe.”

“Yey!” Kurt exclaims, jumping up to kiss him again, what he clearly intends to be a short peck turning into a lot more when Sebastian hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his pants and pulls him closer.

They stop eventually, if only because Rachel’s screamy, “Come on, we’re _so_ late!” manages to take them out of their mutual daze.

Kurt yells back, “We’re almost ready!” Then, almost in the same breath, he mumbles at Sebastian, “Wear something nice.”

“As if I ever don’t.”

Kurt snorts, but chooses not to acknowledge the challenging eyebrow Sebastian looks at him with. Instead, he turns his attention towards his own closet, and as his hands slide over fine fabrics, he asks, “Will you behave?”

“Don’t I always?”

Kurt snorts, and Sebastian doesn’t even have to look at him to know what kind of expressions he’s wearing.

“Fine, fine,” Sebastian concedes, “I’ll do my best.”

Kurt turns to him, not saying a word. The brilliant smile he gives Sebastian, though, that’s enough to make him want to promise him the world. He guesses, then, that the least he can do is brunch with his friends, take a step into the part of Kurt’s life that’s so completely foreign to him, into this city of New York that Sebastian hates and loves at the same time, into this world that owns Kurt’s heart, and that he wants to share with him, if only just for a couple of days.

 


End file.
